H 


[See  page  in 

er  eyes  flashed  to  the  white   gardenia  on  his  breast. 
then  up  to  his  own. 


and  Ofher'iates  of 


BY 
REX    BEACH 

AUTHOR  OF 

"HEART  OF  THE  SUNSET" 
"THE  SPOILERS"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


HARPER  &•  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW   YORK    AND    LONDON 


BOOKS  BY 
REX   BEACH 

THE  CRIMSON  GARDENIA  AND  OTHER 

TALES  OF  ADVENTURE.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
HEART  OF  THE  SUNSET.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
THE  AUCTION   BLOCK.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
THE   IRON   TRAIL.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
THE   NET.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
THE   NE'ER-DO-WELL.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
THE   SPOILERS.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
THE   BARRIER.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
THE   SILVER  HORDE.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
GOING   SOME.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK 


THB  CRIMSON  GARDENIA  AND  OTHER  TALES  OF  ADVENTURE 


Copyright.  1911.  1912,  1913,  1916,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Copyright,  1910,  1913,  by  Cosmopolitan  Magazine 

Copyright,  1906,  by  The  Metropolitan  Magazine  Co. 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  April,  1916 

C-Q 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  CRIMSON  GARDENIA 3 

ROPE'S  END 69 

INOCENCIO       IO5 

THE  WAG-LADY *37 

"MAN  PROPOSES — " l67 

TOLD  IN  THE  STORM 205 

THE  WEIGHT  OF  OBLIGATION 225 

THE  STAMPEDE 261 

WHEN  THE  MAIL  CAME  IN       291 

McGiLL 3i7 

THE  BRAND                  347 


2226913 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

HER  EYES  PLASHED  TO  THE  WHITE  GARDENIA  ON 

His  BREAST,  THEN  UP  TO  His  OWN  .  .  .  Frontispiece 

As  FLOREAL  ROSE  FROM  His  FATHER'S  BODY  HE 
HEARD  A  SHOT  AND  SAW  THE  SOLDIERS  OF  THE 
REPUBLIC  CHARGING  HIM Facing  p.  80 

"TAKE  YOUR  HAND  OFF  THAT  GUN,  BARCLAY"  .    .       "       336 

"  BARCLAY  WASN'T  MORE  'N  HALF  DEAD,  AND  THE 
WOMAN  FELL  TO  BEGGIN'  FOR  His  LIFE 
AGAIN" "  358 


THE 
CRIMSON    GARDENIA 


THE  royal  yacht  had  anchored  amid  a 
thunder  of  cannon,  and  the  king  had  gone 
ashore.  The  city  was  bright  with  bunting;  a 
thousand  whistles  blew.  Up  through  the  fes- 
tooned streets  His  Majesty  was  escorted  between 
long  rows  of  blue-coated  officers,  behind  which 
the  eager  crowds  were  massed  for  mile  upon  mile. 
Thin  wire  cables  were  stretched  along  the  curbs, 
to  hold  the  people  back,  but  these  threatened  to 
snap  before  the  weight  of  the  multitude. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  the  raised  pavilion  where 
the  queen  and  her  maids  of  honor  waited,  the 
press  was  thickest;  here  rows  of  stands  had  been 
erected  that  groaned  beneath  their  freight,  while 
roof-tops  and  windows,  trees  and  telegraph-poles, 
were  black  with  clustered  humanity. 

The  king  was  tall  and  dark;  a  long  beard  hid 
his  face.  But  the  queen  was  young  and  blushing, 

3 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

and  her  waiting-women  were  fairer  than  spring- 
time flowers.  To  a  crashing  martial  air,  she 
handed  him  a  sparkling  goblet  in  which  he  pledged 
her  happiness,  while  the  street  rocked  to  the  roar 
of  many  voices,  and  in  the  open  spaces  youths, 
grotesquely  costumed,  danced  with  goblin  glee. 

Mr.  Roland  Van  Dam  secretly  thought  it  all 
quite  fine  and  inspiriting,  but  he  was  too  highly 
schooled  to  allow  himself  much  emotion.  He  had 
been  hard  put  to  obtain  seats,  and  had  succeeded 
only  through  the  efforts  of  a  friend,  the  Duke  of 
Cotton;  therefore,  he  felt,  the  members  of  his 
party  might  have  shown  at  least  a  perfunctory 
appreciation.  But  they  were  not  the  appreciative 
kind,  and  their  attitude  was  made  plain  by 
Eleanor  Banniman's  languid  words: 

"How  dull!  It's  nothing  like  the  carnival  at 
Nice,  and  the  people  seem  very  common." 

Her  father -was  dozing  uncomfortably,  with  his 
two  lower  chins  telescoped  into  his  billowing  chest ; 
Mrs.  Banniman  complained  of  the  heat  and  the 
glare,  and  predicted  a  headache  for  herself. 
Near  by,  the  rest  of  the  party  were  striving  to 
conceal  their  lack  of  interest  by  guying  the  crowd 
below.  Van  Dam  had  been  the  one  to  suggest 
this  trip  to  New  Orleans  for  the  Mardi  Gras,  and 
he  felt  the  weight  of  entertainment  bearing  heavily 
upon  him.  In  consequence,  he  assumed  a  sprightly 
interest  that  was  very  far  from  genuine. 

"This  sort  of  thing  awakens  something  medieval 
inside  of  one,  don't  you  know,"  he  said. 

4 


THE   CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

Miss  Banniman  regarded  him  with  a  bland  lack 
of  comprehension;  her  mother  moaned  weakly, 
the  burden  of  her  complaint  being,  as  usual : 

"Why  did  we  leave  Palm  Beach?" 

"All  those  dukes  and  things  make  me  feel  as  if 
it  were  real,"  Van  Dam  explained  further.  "They 
say  this  Rex  fellow  is  a  true  king  during  Mardi 
Gras  week,  and  those  chaps  in  masks  are  quite  like 
court  jesters.  Maybe  they  sing  of  wars  and  love 
and  romance — and  all  that  rot." 

"I  dare  say  life  was  just  as  uninteresting  in  olden 
days  as  it  is  now,"  Eleanor  remarked.  "Love  and 
romance  exist  mainly  in  books,  I  fancy.  If  they 
ever  did  exist,  we've  outgrown  them,  eh,  Roly?" 

Being  a  very  rich  and  a  very  experienced  young 
woman,  Miss  Banniman  prided  herself  upon  her 
lack  of  illusion.  To  be  sure,  she  occasionally  per- 
mitted Roland  to  kiss  her  in  celebration  of  their 
engagement,  but  such  caresses  left  her  unper- 
turbed; her  pulses  had  never  been  stirred.  She 
looked  upon  marriage  as  a  somewhat  trying,  al- 
though necessary,  institution.  Van  Dam,  being 
equally  modern  and  equally  satiated  by  life's 
blessings,  shared  her  beliefs  in  a  vague  way. 

Manifestly,  no  lover  could  allow  such  an  asser- 
tion as  this  to  go  unchallenged,  so  he  rose  to  the 
defense  of  romance,  only  to  hear  her  say : 

"Nonsense!  Do  be  sensible,  Roly.  Such  things 
aren't  done  nowadays." 

"What  things  aren't  done?" 

"Oh,  those  crude,  primitive  performances  we 
5 


THE   CRIMSON   GARDENIA 

read  about  in  novels.  Nice  people  don't  fall  in 
love  overnight,  for  instance.  They  don't  allow 
themselves  to  hate,  and  be  jealous,  and  to  rage 
about  like  wild  animals  any  more." 

"The  idea!  Your  father  is  a  perfect  savage,  at 
heart,"  said  Mrs.  Banniman.  She  nodded  at  her 
sleeping  husband,  who  was  roused  at  that  moment 
by  a  fly  that  had  strayed  into  his  right  nostril. 
Mr.  Banniman  sneezed,  half  opened  his  eyes,  and 
murmured  a  feeble  anathema  before  dozing  off 
again.  It  was  plain  that  he  was  not  greatly  enjoy- 
ing the  Mardi  Gras. 

"All  men  are  primitive,"  said  Roly,  quoting 
some  forgotten  author,  at  which  Eleanor  eyed 
him  languidly. 

"Could  you  love  at  first  sight  and  run  off  with 
a  girl?" 

"Certainly  not.  I'd  naturally  have  to  know 
something  about  her  people — 

"Were  you  ever  jealous?" 

"You've  never  given  me  an  occasion,"  he  told 
her,  gallantly. 

"Did  you  ever  hate  anybody?" 

"Um-m— no!" 

"Ever  been  afraid?" 

"Not  exactly." 

"Revengeful?" 

"Certainly  not." 

She  smiled.  "It's  just  as  I  said.  Respectable 
people  don't  allow  themselves  to  be  harrowed  by 
crude  emotions.  I  hate  my  modiste  when  she  fails 

6 


THE   CRIMSON   GARDENIA 

to  fit  me;  I  was  jealous  of  that  baroness  at  the 
Poinciana — the  one  with  all  those  gorgeous  gowns; 
I'm  afraid  of  flying-machines;  but  that  is  as  deep 
as  such  things  go,  nowadays — in  our  set." 

Van  Dam  was  no  hand  at  argument,  and  he  had 
a  great  respect  for  Miss  Banniman's  observation; 
moreover,  he  had  been  discussing  something  of 
which  he  possessed  no  first-hand  knowledge. 
Therefore,  he  said  nothing  further.  No  one  had  a 
greater  appreciation  of,  or  took  a  keener  pleasure 
in,  life's  unruffled  placidity  than  the  young  society 
man.  No  one  had  a  denser  ignorance  of  its  depths, 
its  hidden  currents,  and  its  uncharted  channels 
than  he;  for  adventure  had  never  come  his  way, 
romance  had  never  beckoned  him  from  rose- 
embowered  balconies.  And  yet,  as  the  world  goes, 
he  was  a  normal  individual,  save  for  the  size  of  his 
income.  He  had  not  lost  interest  in  life;  he  was 
merely  interested  in  things  which  did  not  matter. 
That,  after  all,  is  quite  different. 

There  were  times,  nevertheless,  when  he  longed 
vaguely  for  something  thrilling  to  happen,  when 
he  regretted  the  Oslerization  of  romance  and  the 
commercializing  of  love.  Of  course,  adventure 
still  existed;  one  could  hunt  big  game  in  certain 
hidden  quarters,  if  one  chose.  Van  Dam  detested 
stuffed  heads,  and  it  took  so  much  time  to  get 
them.  These  unformed  desires  came  to  him  only 
now  and  then,  and  he  felt  ashamed  of  them,  in  an 
idle  way. 

Now  that  the  parade  had  passed,  the  visitors 
7 


THE   CRIMSON   GARDENIA 

lost  no  time  in  leaving,  and  a  dignified  stampede 
toward  the  hotel  occurred,  for  the  gentlemen  were 
thirsty  and  the  ladies  wished  to  smoke.  It  was 
due  to  their  haste,  perhaps,  that  Van  Dam  became 
separated  from  them  and  found  limself  drifting 
along  Canal  Street  alone  in  a  densely  packed  crowd 
of  merrymakers.  A  masked  woman  in  a  daring 
Spanish  dress  chucked  him  under  the  chin;  her 
companion  showered  him  with  confetti.  A  laugh- 
ing Pierrot  whacked  him  with  a  noisy  bladder; 
boys  and  girls  in  ragged  disguises  importuned  him 
for  pennies.  A  very,  very  shapely  female  person, 
in  what  appeared  to  be  the  beginnings  of  a  bathing 
suit,  laughed  over  her  shoulder,  inviting  him,  with 
eyes  that  danced. 

' '  My  word !"  murmured  the  New-Yorker.  ' '  This 
is  worth  while." 

Ahead  of  him,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Miss 
Banniman's  aigrettes  and  the  ponderous  figure  of 
her  father.  But  the  gaiety  of  the  carnival  crowd 
had  infected  him,  and  he  was  loath  to  leave  it  for 
the  Grunewald,  whither  his  friends  were  bound 
with  the  unerring  directness  of  thirsty  millionaires. 
It  was  a  brilliant,  gorgeous  afternoon;  the  streets 
were  alive  with  color.  Somewhere  through  this 
crowd,  the  young  man  idly  reflected,  adventure — 
even  romance — might  be  stalking,  if  such  things 
really  existed.  So  he  decided  to  linger.  To  be 
quite  truthful,  Van  Dam's  decision  was  made,  not 
with  any  faintest  idea  of  encountering  either  ro- 
mance or  adventure,  but  because  a  slight  indiges- 

8 


THE   CRIMSON   GARDENIA 

tion  made  the  thought  of  a  gin-fizz  or  a  julep  un- 
bearable at  the  moment. 

As  he  continued  to  move  with  the  throng,  the 
butt  of  badinage  and  the  target  for  impudent 
glances,  he  felt  a  desire  to  be  of  it  and  in  it.  He 
yielded  himself  to  a  most  indiscreet  impulse. 
Assuring  himself  that  he  was  unobserved,  he 
stepped  into  a  store,  purchased  a  plain  black 
domino  and  mask,  donned  them,  and  then  fell 
in  with  the  procession  once  more,  dimly  amused 
at  his  folly,  vaguely  surprised  at  his  impropriety. 

But  now  that  he  was  one  of  the  revelers  he  was 
no  longer  an  object  of  their  attentions;  they  paid 
no  heed  to  him,  and  he  soon  became  bored.  He 
engaged  himself  in  conversation  with  an  old  flower- 
woman,  and,  as  she  had  only  a  solitary  gardenia 
left  in  her  tray,  he  bought  it  in  order  that  she  might 
go  home.  He  pinned  the  blossom  on  the  left 
breast  of  his  domino,  and  wandered  to  the  nearest 
corner  to  watch  the  crowds  flow  past. 

He  had  been  there  but  a  moment  when  a  girl 
approached  and  stood  beside  him.  She  was  petite, 
and  yet  her  body  beneath  its  fetching  Norman  cos- 
tume showed  the  rounded  lines  of  maturity;  at 
the  edge  of  her  mask  her  skin  gleamed  smooth 
and  creamy;  her  eyes  were  very  dark  and  very 
bright.  As  Mr.  Van  Dam  was  a  very  circumspect 
young  man,  not  given  to  the  slightest  familiarity 
with  strangers,  he  confined  his  attentions  to  an 
inoffensive  inventory  of  her  charms,  and  was 
doubly  startled  to  hear  her  murmur: 
2  9 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

"You  came  in  spite  of  all,  m'sieu'!" 

A  French  girl,  he  thought.  No  doubt  one  of 
those  Creoles  he  had  heard  so  much  about. 
Aloud,  he  said,  with  a  bow : 

"Yes,  mademoiselle.  I  have  been  looking  for 
some  one  like  you." 

Her  eyes  flashed  to  the  white  gardenia  on  his 
breast,  then  up  to  his  own.  "You  were  expecting 
some  one?" 

"I  was.  A  girl,  to  guide  me  through  the 
carnival." 

"But  you  are  early.  Did  you  not  receive  the 
warning?" 

"Warning?"  he  answered,  confused.  "I  re- 
ceived no  warning." 

"I  feared  as  much,"  she  said,  "so  I  came.  But 
it  was  unwise  of  you;  it  was  madness  to  risk  the 
streets."  Her  eyes  left  his  face,  to  scan  the 
crowds. 

He  fancied  she  shrank  from  them,  as  if  fearing 
observation.  Van  Dam  was  puzzled.  Her  voice 
and  manner  undoubtedly  betrayed  a  genuine 
emotion,  or  else  she  was  a  consummate  actress. 
If  this  were  some  Mardi  Gras  prank,  he  felt  a 
desire  to  see  the  next  move.  If  it  proved  to  be 
anything  more,  he  fancied  that  he  was  too  sophis- 
ticated to  be  caught  and  fleeced  like  a  countryman. 
But  something  told  him  that  this  was  no  ordinary 
street  flirtation.  The  words  "warning,"  "risk" 
seemed  to  promise  entertainment.  If,  as  he  sus- 
pected, she  had  mistaken  him  for  some  one  else, 

10 


THE    CRIMSON   GARDENIA 

a  brief  masquerade  could  lead  to  no  harm.  He 
decided  to  see  how  far  he  could  carry  the  de- 
ception. 

"What  warning  could  serve  to  prevent  my  see- 
ing you?"  he  asked  in  a  hollow  voice;  then  was 
surprised  at  the  flush  that  stole  upward  to  the  girl's 
dainty  ear. 

"You  are  indeed  insane  to  jest  at  such  a  time," 
she  breathed.  "I  would  never  have  known  you 
without  the  flower.  But  come — we  are  in  danger 
here.  Some  one — is  waiting.  Will  you  follow  me  ?" 

"To  the  ends  of  the  earth,"  he  replied,  gallantly. 

Again  she  gave  him  a  startled  glance,  half  of 
pleasure,  half  of  deprecation;  then,  as  he  made  a 
movement  to  accompany  her,  she  checked  him. 

"No,  no!  You  must  let  me  go  ahead.  They 
are  everywhere.  They  may  suspect  even  my 
disguise.  I — I  am  dreadfully  afraid." 

Van  Dam  scarcely  knew  how  to  answer  this. 
So,  like  a  wise  man,  he  held  his  tongue. 

"Listen!"  she  continued.  "I  will  walk  slowly, 
and  do  you  remain  far  enough  behind  for  your 
own  safety — " 

"My  safety  is  as  nothing  to  yours,"  he  told  her, 
but  she  shook  her  head  impatiently. 

"Please!  Please!  They  will  never  select  you 
out  of  a  thousand  dominps,  and  I  am  not  sure 
they  suspect  me.  But  should  they  try  to  lift 
my  mask,  you  must  escape  at  once."  . 

"Would  they  dare?"  Mr.  Van  Dam  inquired, 
shocked  at  such  a  breach  of  carnival  etiquette. 

ii 


THE   CRIMSON   GARDENIA 

"They  would  dare  anything." 

"But  I  couldn't  allow  it,  really,"  he  persisted. 
"If  any  hand  is  to  lift  your  mask,  I  insist  that 
mine  be  the  favored  one." 

She  darted  a  doubtful  look  at  him,  being  plainly 
perturbed  at  his  tone,  then  shook  her  head.  ' '  She 
told  me  you  were  reckless,  but /you  are  quite — 
insane." 

For  a  second  time  he  discovered  that  delicious 
color  tingeing  her  neck  and  laughed,  which  dis- 
concerted her  even  more.  She  hesitated,  then 
turned  away  and  he  fell  in  behind  her. 

But  distance  served  only  to  enhance  the  girl's 
charms.  Roly  saw  how  beautifully  proportioned 
she  was,  how  regally  she  carried  herself,  how  light 
and  springy  was  her  step.  Although  he  had  not 
seen  her  face,  he  somehow  felt  agreeably  certain 
that  she  possessed  a  witching  beauty. 

The  circumspection  with  which  she  avoided  the 
densest  crowds  made  him  wonder  anew  at  the 
character  of  the  danger  that  could  overhang  a 
masked  maiden  at  mid-afternoon  on  a  carnival  day, 
for  by  this  time  he  had  forgotten  his  first  suspi- 
cion. He  thought  not  at  all  that  the  peril  could 
be  serious,  or  in  any  way  involve  him,  for  the 
magic  of  the  Van  Dam  name  protected  its  owner 
like  invisible  mail.  Tire  effect  of  that  patronymic 
was  really  quite  wonderful ;  policemen  bowed  to  it, 
irate  strangers  allowed  their  anger  to  ooze  away 
before  it.  It  smoothed  the  owner's  way  through 
difficulties  and  brought  him  favors  when  least 

12 


THE    CRIMSON   GARDENIA 

expected;  rage  changed  to  servility;  indignation, 
opposition,  even  jealousy  altered  color  in  the  shad- 
ow of  the  Van  Dam  millions.  Nothing  really  un- 
pleasant ever  happened  to  Roly,  and  so  it  was 
that  he  had  become  blas£  and  tired  at  twenty-six. 

He  followed  his  masked  guide  across  Canal 
Street  and  into^he  foreign  quarter  of  the  city, 
where  the  surroundings  were  unfamiliar  to  him. 
He  gazed  with  mild  repugnance  at  the  squalid  old 
houses,  moldering  behind  their  rusted  iron  bal- 
conies. Dim,  flag-paved  hallways  allowed  him  a 
glimpse  of  flowered  courtyards  at  the  rear;  cool 
passages  went  twisting  in  between  the  buildings. 
Over  hard-baked,  glaring  walls  there  drooped 
branches  laden  with  bloom  and  fruit.  The  streets 
were  narrow,  the  houses  leaned  intimately  toward 
one  another,  as  if  exchanging  gossip;  little  cafes 
with  sanded  floors  opened  upon  the  sidewalks. 
Here  the  carnival  crowd  was  more  foreign  in  char- 
acter; people  were  dancing  to  orchestras  of  guitar 
and  mandolin;  youths  turned  somersaults  for 
pennies;  ragged  negroes  jigged  and  shuffled  with 
outstretched  hats. 

Through  this  confusion  the  Norman  girl  took 
her  way,  now  seeking  some  deep  doorway  to  allow 
a  particularly  boisterous  group  to  pass,  now 
flitting  through  the  open  spaces  with  the  swift 
irregularity  of  a  buttery  winging  its  course 
through  sunlit  stretches.  But  her  caution,  her 
birdlike,  backward  glances,  told  Van  Dam  that 
she  was  in  constant  dread  of  discovery,  and  in- 

13 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

voluntarily    he    lessened    the    distance    between 
them. 

It  was  well,  perhaps,  that  he  did  so,  for  just 
then  a  man  in  a  domino  like  his  own  accosted  the 
girl.  Roly  saw  his  guide  shrink  away,  saw  her  turn 
and  signal  him  with  a  swift,  imperious  gesture  of 
warning.  Instead  of  heeding  it,  he  moved  forward 
in  time  to  intercept  the  stranger.  The  fellow  was 
laughing  loudly;  he  assumed  a  tipsy  air  and 
lurched  against  the  girl;  then,  with  a  quickness 
that  belied  his  pose,  he  snatched  at  her  mask  and 
bared  her  features.  She  cried  out  in  terror,  and 
with  the  sound  of  her  voice  Mr.  Van  Dam  flew 
to  action.  He  knew  that  until  six  o'clock  dis- 
guises were  inviolate,  and  that  it  was  against  the 
strictest  of  police  regulations  to  unmask  a  reveler ; 
therefore  he  yielded  to  a  righteous  impulse  and 
struck  the  man  in  the  domino  squarely  upon  the 
jaw.  Beneath  Roly's  rounded  proportions  was  a 
deceptive  machinery  of  bone  and  muscle  that  had 
been  schooled  by  the  most  expensive  instructors 
of  boxing.  He  had  known  how  to  hit  cleanly  since 
he  was  twelve  years  old,  and  although  he  had  never 
struck  a  man  in  anger  until  this  moment,  his  fist 
went  true.  The  fellow  rocked  stiffly  back  upon 
his  heels  and  fell  like  a  wooden  figure,  his  head 
thumping  dully  on  the  pavement,  and  Roly  gave 
vent  to  a  most  ungenflemanly  snort  of  surprise 
and  satisfaction.  It  had  been  much  easier  than 
he  had  expected,  and  feeling  that  the  man  should 
have  every  opportunity  for  fair  play  Roly  began 

14 


THE   CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

promptly  to  count,  "One,  two,  three — "  Then 
he  felt  the  girl's  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  turned  in 
time  to  catch  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  a  dimpled  chin 
as  she  drew  her  mask  down .  ' '  Rotten  trick ,  that ! ' ' 

"Heaven  above!"  she  gasped.  "You  must  flee 
— quickly!" 

People  were  crossing  the  street  toward  them, 
drawn  by  the  sight  of  the  fallen  man. 

"Run  away  and  leave  you?"  queried  Roly. 
"Hardly!" 

"Then" — the  breath  caught  in  the  girl's  throat 
—"come!" 

She  clutched  his  hand  and  they  fled,  side  by  side, 
pursued  by  half  a  score  of  shouting  merrymakers. 
Around  the  first  corner  they  scurried,  into  a  crowd, 
then  out  of  it  and  into  the  next  thoroughfare, 
doubling  and  turning  until  the  girl's  breath  was 
gone. 

"Why— did— you  do— it?  Ah!— why?"  she 
gasped,  still  hurrying  him  along. 

"Drunken  loafer!"  Van  Dam  said,  vindictively. 

"He  was  not  drunk!  Don't  you  understand? 
Didn't  you  guess?  It  was  the  Black  Wolf!" 

Roly  did  not  understand,  and  he  had  no  oppor- 
tunity to  guess  who  or  what  the  Black  Wolf 
might  be,  for  his  companion  paused,  crying: 

"God  help  us!    They  are  coming." 

From  the  street  behind  rose  a  babble  of  angry 
voices. 

"He  saw  me!    He  knows!" 

She  cast  a  despairing  glance  about,  and,  spying 
15 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

a  narrow  alley  close  at  hand,  darted  toward  it, 
dragging  Van  Dam  with  her. 

Retreat  carries  with  it  a  peculiar  panic,  and  the 
young  man  felt  the  stirring  of  an  utterly  new  sen- 
sation within  him.  He  was  running  away !  What 
was  more,  he  wanted  to  keep  running,  even  though 
he  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  what  menaced  him. 
It  was  quite  remarkable.  He  seemed  to  feel,  for 
some  unknown  reason,  that  this  sprightly  young 
person  beside  him  was  indeed  risking  her  safety 
for  him.  Therefore,  he  began  to  share  her  appre- 
hensions, but  as  to  what  it  meant  or  whither  the 
adventure  was  leading  he  had  not  a  suspicion.  He 
did  wonder,  however,  where  the  Black  Wolf  got 
his  name. 

The  alley  was  damp  and  slippery,  being  no  more 
than  a  tunnel-like  passage  between  two  buildings, 
and  it  led  into  a  large  courtyard  full  of  carts  and 
wagons.  A  low  shed  ran  along  one  side  of  the 
inclosure;  at  the  rear  was  a  two-story  structure 
used  as  a  stable. 

"There!  I  guess  we've  given  them  the  slip," 
Van  Dam  sighed,  with  relief. 

But  his  companion  shook  her  head.  "No,  no! 
We  must  hide.  The  Black  Wolf  has  the  cunning 
of  Satan,  and  now  that  he  knows — "  She  sped 
through  the  confusion  of  vehicles  to  the  stable 
door,  with  Roly  following.  An  instant  more  and 
they  were  in  an  odorful,  dim-lit  place  divided  into 
stalls  out  of  which  the  heads  of  several  horses 
were  thrust  in  friendly  greeting.  The  girl  closed 

16 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

the  door  and  leaned  panting  against  it,  one  hand 
to  her  heaving  bosom.  Her  head  was  bowed  and 
her  ears  were  strained  for  sounds  of  pursuit.  In 
the  silence  Van  Dam  heard  his  own  heavy  breath- 
ing, the  swish  of  the  horses'  tails,  an  impatient 
stirring  of  hoofs,  and  a  gentle  whinny.  He  dis- 
covered that  his  pulse  was  hammering  in  a  very 
unusual  manner  and  that  he  was  agreeably 
excited. 

The  girl  uttered  an  exclamation.  "I  feared  so! 
Hurry!"  She  slipped  past  him  to  a  rickety  stair- 
way that  led  upward.  "Ah — h — !  this  mask 
is  smothering  me !"  She  disengaged  it  hastily,  and 
he  saw  it  dangling  in  her  hand  as  he  mounted  the 
steep  stairs  behind  her.  He  saw  also  a  pair  of 
dainty  silken  ankles,  swelling  into  delicious  curves 
that  were  hidden  in  the  foamy  whiteness  of 
lingerie.  Being  an  extremely  respectful  gentle- 
man, Mr.  Van  Dam  lowered  his  eyes,  anticipating 
with  curious  eagerness  the  pleasure  of  beholding 
her  countenance,  once  they  had  gained  the  loft. 
The  desire  to  see  behind  her  mask  became  really 
acute.  He  had  missed  one  opportunity  by  so 
narrow  a  margin  as  to  quicken  his  desires. 

They  came  out  upon  a  rough  landing,  and  Van 
Dam  caught  the  whisk  of  her  skirts  disappearing 
through  a  door  that  led  into  the  haymow.  As  he 
followed,  the  door  closed  and  he  found  himself 
in  utter  darkness.  He  heard  her  fumbling  with 
the  lock.  Their  hands  came  together  as  he 
turned  a  rusty  key  and  he  felt  her  figure  close 

17 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

against  his;  her  fragrant  breath  fanned  his 
cheek. 

"Make  no  sound,  as  you  value  our  lives." 

As  she  whispered  this,  Van  Dam  swore  mildly 
at  the  luck  that  prevented  him  from  appraising 
his  companion's  good  looks,  now  that  her  mask 
was  off.  From  the  courtyard  below  sounded 
voices.  The  girl  clutched  him  nervously ;  her  hand 
was  shaking.  He  could  feel  her  shiver,  so  he 
slipped  an  arm  about  her  waist.  He  did  this 
merely  to  steady  her,  he  told  himself.  He 
reasoned  further  that  such  a  familiarity  could 
scarcely  be  offensive  in  the  dark.  As  she  yielded 
gratefully  to  his  embrace,  her  soft  body  palpitating 
against  his  own,  he  ceased  reasoning  and  drew  her 
closer.  It  was  very  agreeable  to  discover  that  she 
made  no  resistance;  he  could  not  recollect  any 
sensation  quite  like  this!  As  yet  he  had  done 
nothing  improper,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  it  was 
every  gentleman's  bounden  duty  to  succor  beauty 
in  distress.  He  wondered  if  his  friends  at  the 
Grunewald  had  missed  him,  then  realized  with 
relief  that  Miss  Banniman  never  allowed  his  pres- 
ence or  his  absence  to  interfere  in  the  slightest 
with  her  arrangements.  They  were  probably 
finishing  their  drinks  by  now.  This  would  make 
an  entertaining  story,  later  in  the  evening;  they 
would  never  guess  what  he  was  doing. 

"Who  is  that  speaking?"  he  inquired. 

"Francois,  the  Spider,"  whispered  the  girl. 
' '  Eh,  God !  How  they  all  have  come  to  hate  you !" 

18 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

Roly  reasoned  from  these  words  that  his 
enemies  numbered  more  than  one  or  two,  and  in- 
voluntarily he  asked:  "Hate  me?  What  for?" 

The  girl  trembled.     "As  if  you  did  not  know." 

"And  what  would  happen  if  they  found  me — 
us?"  he  persisted,  feeling  vaguely  for  some  hint. 

"Ah!"  Her  breath  caught.  "Hush!"  She 
laid  her  fingers  over  the  lips  of  his  mask. 

Van  Dam  yielded  to  an  ungovernable  impulse 
and  kissed  them  through  the  stiff,  harsh  cloth, 
whereat  she  said  in  wonderment: 

"Heaven  guard  us!  You  are  actually  laughing. 
That  you  are  wild,  I  knew;  but — you  are — you 
act  very  strangely,  m'sieu." 

"Perhaps  I'm  intoxicated,"  he  murmured,  and 
pressed  her  slender  waist  meaningly;  whereupon 
she  seemed  to  feel  his  arm  for  the  first  time. 
She  drew  away,  but  as  she  disengaged  his  embrace 
her  hand  encountered  his. 

"It  is  wet  —  bloody  —  where  you  struck  the 
Black  Wolf." 

"That  was  a  good  wallop,  wasn't  it?"  Van  Dam 
chuckled,  with  satisfaction,  while  she  felt  for  her 
handkerchief  and  dabbled  at  his  bruised  knuckles. 
"I  wondered  if  I  could  put  him  out." 

Then  they  ceased  whispering,  for  some  one  was 
entering  the  stable  beneath  them.  After  a  time 
the  stairs  creaked  to  a  heavy  tread,  a  hand  tried  the 
door,  and  they  could  feel  a  presence  within  arm's- 
length.  They  stood  motionless,  not  daring  even 
to  shift  their  weight  upon  the  crazy  floor,  until 

19 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

the  fellow  began  to  explore  the  other  portion  of 
the  loft. 

"That  is  the  Spider  himself,"  breathed  the  girl, 
close  to  Van  Dam's  ear.  "He  thinks  he  has  me 
in  his  web;  but — " 

"Yes?" 

"I  would  die  before  I  married  him." 

A  sudden  dislike  for  spiders  in  general  awoke  in 
Roly's  breast. 

"I  hate  him.  I  would  kill  him  if  I  dared,  but 
he  frightens  me — "  She  broke  off  and  caught 
at  her  companion,  gasping:  "God!  What  are  you 
doing?" 

He  had  turned  the  key  softly  and  was  opening 
the  door.  To  be  quite  truthful,  Roly  Van  Dam 
did  not  know  exactly  what  he  intended  doing,  but 
some  reckless  impulse  moved  him  to  action.  He 
was  invaded  by  a  sudden  desire  to  lay  hands  upon 
this  Spider  person  who  went  about  terrorizing 
pretty  girls.  Having  been  reared  to  a  habit  of 
doing  exactly  as  impulse  dictated,  he  felt  no 
hesitation  now.  Away  back  in  his  mind,  however, 
something  told  him  calmly  that  he  had  gone  quite 
mad,  that  the  magic  of  adventure  had  sent  his 
wits  a-flying  and  had  played  havoc  with  his  com- 
mon sense.  And  a  change  really  had  come  over 
him  with  the  very  beginning  of  this  enterprise, 
although  he  had  not  stopped  to  notice  it.  The 
flaring  rage  that  had  answered  to  the  Wolf's  as- 
sault upon  the  girl,  the  joyful  sensation  of  setting 
his  fist  into  the  fellow's  face,  the  excitement  of  the 

20 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

flight  and  the  pursuit,  had  all  combined  to  upset 
his  equilibrium.  Then,  too,  the  presence  of  this 
bewitching  creature  close  beside  him  in  the  dark- 
ness, the  pressure  of  her  body  in  his  arms,  the 
scent  of  her  warm  breath — all  this  helped  to  com- 
pletely electrify  him.  He  felt  the  dawning  of 
new  and  utterly  absurd  desires.  Away  with  dis- 
cretion! To  the  winds  with  prudence!  This 
maiden's  cause  was  his.  Here  was  the  one  glad 
moment  of  his  life. 

"Francois!"  he  called  in  a  low  voice.  He 
slipped  the  girl's  hand  from  his  arm,  thrust  her 
back  into  the  shadows,  and  stepped  out  upon  the 
landing. 

"Oui!  In  a  moment!"  The  Spider  came 
stumbling  toward  him.  "She  is  not  here."  Van 
Dam  saw  a  tall  man  in  a  domino  like  his  own. 
"Sacrt!  She  has  disappeared;  and  that  devil's 
spawn  is  with  her.  You  found  no  trace  in  the  yard 
below?" 

"Sst!  Listen,"  breathed  Roly.  He  sank  his 
fingers  into  his  palms  and  measured  the  distance 
carefully.  Then,  as  Francois  turned  his  head 
attentively,  Roly  braced  himself  and  swung.  It 
may  have  been  due  to  the  uncertain  light,  or  to 
the  narrow  eyelet-holes  through  which  he  peered; 
at  any  rate,  Van  Dam's  blow  went  short. 

The  Spider  uttered  a  cry  of  fury  and  surprise. 
Roly  felt  himself  hugged  by  a  pair  of  thin,  iron- 
muscled  arms;  then  his  hands  felt  in  beneath  the 
man's  disguise,  and  the  cry  changed  to  a  gurgle. 

21 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

They  strained  and  rocked  against  each  other 
briefly;  the  floor  sagged  and  creaked;  the  door 
behind  them  flew  open.  Fra^ois  was  groping 
with  one  free  hand  at  his  waist;  but  his  domino 
was  like  a  shirt,  and  he  could  not  find  that  for 
which  his  hungry  fingers  searched.  As  for  Van 
Dam,  a  delicious  ferocity  was  flaming  through  his 
veins.  Here  was  an  enemy  bent  upon  his  quick 
destruction.  No  game  he  had  ever  played  was 
half  so  exhilarating  as  this.  He  could  feel  the 
fellow  writhe  and  the  breath  bursting  through 
beneath  his  fingers;  he  could  feel  the  man's  cords 
harden  until  they  were  like  wire.  Strange  to  say, 
with  every  wrench  and  every  surge  his  own 
abysmal  fury  increased.  But  the  Spider  was  no 
weakling ;  he  fought  desperately  until,  in  a  burst  of 
blind  anger  that  was  like  some  diabolic  glee,  Van 
Dam  lifted  him  bodily  and  hurled  him  at  the 
opening  in  the  floor.  The  fellow  missed  his  foot- 
ing, clawed  wildly,  then  fell  backward  headlong 
into  the  light  below.  The  next  instant  Van  Dam, 
too,  had  lost  his  balance  and  followed,  bumping 
from  step  to  step  until  he  fetched  up  at  the  foot 
with  a  jar  that  drove  the  breath  out  of  him. 

He  sat  up  in  a  moment,  still  dazed;  then  he 
heard  a  rustle,  and  beheld  above  him  a  pair  of 
frightened,  dark  eyes  gazing  into  his.  Although 
he  could  see  nothing  of  the  girl's  face — she  had 
replaced  her  mask — he  knew  that  she  was  racked 
with  anxiety. 

"Are  you  killed?"  she  queried. 
22 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

"No;  just  abominably  twisted,"  he  said.  Then, 
with  a  wry  face:  "Ouch!  That  was  an  awful 
bump."  As  he  felt  himself  over  gingerly  he 
stopped  short  at  the  sight  of  his  mask  lying 
crumpled  beside  him.  He  realized  that  the  jig 
was  up  and  began  to  formulate  an  explanation  of 
his  deception,  only  to  hear  her  exclaim,  tremu- 
lously : 

"God  be  praised!    You  are  unhurt." 

He  sat  still,  staring  at  her,  amazed  that  no  out- 
burst followed  her  glimpse  of  his  face. 

"How  did  you  dare — ?"  She  turned  to  the 
figure  of  Francois,  which  Roly  discovered  motion- 
less an  arm's-length  away. 

The  Spider  was  sprawled  loosely  in  the  litter. 
His  head  was  twisted  upon  his  shoulders  in  a 
peculiar  way,  and  his  mask,  having  slipped  to  the 
back,  stared  upward  with  a  placid,  waxlike  smile 
that  was  horrible  under  the  circumstances. 
.  Still  lost  in  wonderment,  Van  Dam  arose,  dusted 
off  his  clothing,  and  picked  up  his  own  disguise. 
Was  it  possible  that  she  did  not  know  the  person 
she  had  gone  to  meet?  It  seemed  so,  indeed, 
for  she  was  hanging  upon  him  anxiously,  as  if  still 
doubting  his  safety,  while  she  half  sobbed  her 
admiration  of  his  bravery  and  her  gratitude  at  his 
escape.  Roly  began  to  fear  he  had  been  imposed 
upon,  after  all,  else  how  could  she  fail  to  realize 
that  he  was  an  utter  stranger?  But  the  girl's 
honesty  was  compelling;  he  found  that  he  could 
not  doubt  the  sincerity  of  her  gaze. 

23 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

He  felt  an  unaccountable  lack  of  compunction 
regarding  the  Spider.  In  fact,  he  experienced  a 
sense  of  satisfaction  at  the  completeness  of  his 
victory  over  the  ruffian,  and  she  seemed  to  share 
the  feeling. 

He  heard  her  urging  him  to  make  haste,  and 
before  he  had  fully  regained  his  wits  he  found  him- 
self following  her  out  into  the  sunlight.  Under- 
neath the  wagon-shed  she  guided  him,  around 
behind  it  and  into  a  narrow  three-foot  space,  the 
left  side  of  which  was  bounded  by  a  board  fence 
about  head-high. 

"Quick!"  she  cried,  eagerly.  "Once  we  are 
on  the  other  side  we  may  escape.  The  others  are 
somewhere  close  by." 


ii 


VAN  DAM,  being  accustomed  by  this  time  to 
a  certain  obedience,  lifted  the  girl  up  to  the  top 
of  the  fence,  scrambled  over  it  himself,  and  held 
up  his  arms  to  her.  He  was  in  another  yard, 
much  cleaner  than  the  one  he  had  just  quit. 
There  were  trees  and  flowers  in  it,  and  looking 
down  on  them  were  shuttered  windows  which 
seemed  empty.  As  she  surrendered  her  weight 
to  him  he  gave  rein  to  the  license  which  was  in  his 
blood  and  pressed  a  warm  kiss  back  of  her  mask 
where  the  hair  lay  in  wispy  ringlets  against  her 
neck. 

24 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

' '  Mon  Dieu!  What  a  man !"  she  laughed,  strug- 
gling gently  to  free  herself.  "You  had  better  put 
on  your  mask.  We  haven't  far  to  go,  but  there 
may  be  observing  eyes." 

"Am — I — er — quite  the  person  you  pictured?" 
he  queried,  as  he  adjusted  the  false  face. 

"Not  at  all." 

"You  have  never  seen  me  before  to-day?" 

"Of  course  not!     How  could  I?" 

"I  have  seen  you  often." 

"Impossible!     Where?" 

"Dreams!"  said  Van  Dam,  vaguely,  yet  with 
some  degree  of  truth.  "This  all  seems  like  a 
dream,  as  a  matter  of  fact.  I'm  afraid  I'll  turn 
over,  and  you'll  change  into  an  old  lady  with 
hoop-skirts,  or  a  flock  of  purple  snowbirds,  or  a 
friendly  crocodile  with  gold  spectacles." 

She  pondered  this  for  a  moment  as  they  made 
their  way  across  the  yard,  being  careful  in  the 
mean  while  to  see  if  they  were  observed.  After  a 
moment  she  halted. 

"Wait!"  she  said.  "I — am  not  sure  we  dare 
risk  going  farther,  for  the  streets  are  alarmed  and 
the  Wolf  is  in  the  neighborhood  with  all  his  pack. 
I  had  thought  to  take  you  straight  home,  but  now 
they  will  be  watching.  It  would  be  madness  to 
try  it."  Again  she  fell  silent,  only  to  exclaim: 
"I  have  an  idea.  Come!"  She  turned  abruptly 
to  the  right. 

"Where  are  we  going  now?"  he  inquired,  mildly. 

She  pointed  to  a  house  the  back  yard  of  which 
3  25 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

abutted  upon  the  one  that  they  were  crossing. 
"Yonder  is  your  cousin  Alfred's  house.  He  is 
away  at  business,  the  servants  are  out  watching 
the  carnival,  and  so  it  is  empty.  Do  you  dare 
venture  it?" 

"Just  the  thing!"  he  said,  amiably.  "I  owe 
Alfred  a  call." 

The  girl  laughed  shortly.  "Ah!  He  would  die 
of  rage — or  fright — if  he  knew;  but  you  can  wait 
there  while  I  go — 

"Oh,  I  say!  You're  not  going  to  leave  me?" 
queried  Roly  in  genuine  alarm. 

"Of  course,  silly!     Some  one  must  bring  her." 

Van  Dam  fell  silent,  speculating  upon  this  last 
remark.  After  a  moment  he  said,  "You're  sure 
Alfred  won't  return?" 

"Who  knows?  We  must  run  some  hazards. 
The  key  will  be  under  the  step,  I  think.  Come!" 

They  gained  ingress  to  the  next  inclosure 
through  a  cedar  hedge.  Then,  as  they  neared  the 
back  door,  a  distant  commotion  sounded  from  the 
stable-yard,  warning  them  that  the  Spider's 
friends  had  stumbled  upon  him.  But  the  girl's 
ready  fingers  found  the  key  where  it  was  hidden, 
and  an  instant  later  they  were  in  a  spotless 
Creole  kitchen  ornamented  with  shining  pots  and 
pans.  A  cat  rose  from  a  sleepy  window-ledge, 
arched  its  back,  and  stretched. 

With  a  warning  gesture  Van  Dam's  guide  bade 
him  wait,  then  disappeared,  returning  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

26 


THE    CRIMSON     GARDENIA 

"It  is  as  I  thought — the  house  is  empty."  She 
beckoned  him,  and  he  followed  her  past  a  pantry, 
down  a  hall,  and  into  a  study  furnished  with  a 
considerable  degree  of  elegance.  Drawn  blinds 
shut  out  the  glaring  heat ;  it  was  dim  and  cool  and 
restful. 

The  maiden  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and  steadied 
herself  against  one  of  the  massive  mahogany  chairs, 
showing  by  her  attitude  that  the  recent  strain  had 
told  upon  her. 

"Heaven  be  praised!  You  are  safe  here,  for  a 
time  at  least,"  she  managed  to  say. 

"Nice,  comfy  place,  this,"  remarked  Van  Dam, 
with  an  appreciative  glance  at  the  surroundings. 
"We  can  sit  here  and — and  get  acquainted — eh?" 

"Hm-m!  I  think  I  have  learned  to  know  you 
quite  well  in  the  past  half -hour,"  she  laughed. 

"True!  But  we've  had  very  little  chance  to 
talk  calmly  and  rationally;  now,  have  we?  Of 
course  you're  accustomed  to  such  things,  perhaps; 
but  it  has  been  a  trifle  strenuous  for  a  person  of  my 
easy  ways.  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I'm 
positively  winded.  .Let's  rest  a  bit  before  you 
leave." 

But  the  girl  shook  her  head  at  his  suggestion. 
"You  forget  how  she  has  waited  and  longed  for 
this  hour.  She  has  been  very  ill ;  nothing  seemed 
to  interest  her  until  you  promised  to  come  ,on  the 
last  day  of  the  fiesta.  Since  then  she  has  been  like 
another  woman.  She  is  counting  the  moments 
now  until  she  feels  your  arms  about  her." 

27 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

Roly  stirred  uncomfortably,  for  here  was  some- 
thing he  had  not  counted  upon.  One  woman  at  a 
time  was  ample ;  he  had  no  desire  to  hold  another 
to  his  breast.  He  was  shocked,  too,  that  this  girl 
should  suggest  such  a  thing  after  what  had  passed 
between  them.  It  was  unseemly.  He  felt  tempted 
to  confess  his  deception  and  to  demand  an  explana- 
tion of  the  whole  affair,  but  some  sense  of  shame 
held  him  back.  Besides,  his  companion  was  un- 
doubtedly sincere,  and  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  cause  her  dismay. 

Another  reason  that  urged  him  to  hold  his 
tongue  and  to  let  the  adventure  run  its  course  was 
that  as  yet  he  had  not  seen  her  face.  The  desire 
to  do  so  was  becoming  insufferable.  He  was 
about  to  claim  the  privilege  when  she  changed  the 
current  of  his  thoughts. 

"You  must  not  be  shocked  if  she  does  not 
recognize  you.  She  has  been  ill,  very  ill,  since 
you — proved  so  great  a — trial  to  her.  You  un- 
derstand?" 

"Perfectly!"  he  said,  thankful  that  she  could 
not  detect  his  signs  of  bewilderment. 

"Very  well,  then.  You  will  make  free  of  your 
cousin  Alfred's  hospitality  while  I  am  gone."  She 
laughed  nervously.  "  La !  There  is  irony  for  you. ' ' 

"Suppose  he  should  return  in  the  mean  time?" 

She  shrugged.  "You  seem  quite  capable  of 
caring  for  yourself,  m'sieu'.  I  should  not  wish 
to  be  in  his  shoes,  that  is  all.  But  there  is  little 
danger.  And  now  I  must  leave  you." 

28 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

"Just  a  moment,"  he  said,  taking  her  two  hands 
in  his.  "You  have  seen  my  face.  Don't  you  think 
I  wish  to  see  yours?" 

Her  breath  caught  at  the  tone  of  his  voice. 
"Not  yet.  Please!  When  I  return — when  you 
have  held  her  in  your  arms  and  made  your  peace. 
Then,  perhaps,  if  you  wish — but  not  until  then." 
She  pressed  his  fingers  meaningly,  and  he  thrilled. 

"You  haven't  spoken  my  name,  either,"  said  he. 
"Won't  you  tell  me  that  you — like  me?" 

"I — like  you,  Cousin  Emile,"  said  she;  then, 
in  a  voice  that  told  him  she  was  blushing  rosily, 
"and  what  name  do  you  give  to  me?" 

Roly's  wits  came  to  his  rescue  barely  in  time; 
with  an  air  of  deepest  tenderness,  that  was  not  all 
assumed,  he  said:  "I  haven't  dared  acknowledge 
the  name  my  heart  has  given  you,  even  to  myself. 
It  is—" 

"No,  no!"  she  laughed,  tremulously.  "Call  me 
Madelon." 

"Madelon,  Desire  of  my  Dreams."  He  raised 
her  hand  to  his  lips.  "Until  you  give  me  leave 
to  lift  your  mask  I  kiss  these  dimpled  fingers." 

It  was  plain  that  his  boldness  did  not  altogether 
displease  her,  for  she  paused  reluctantly  upon  the 
threshold.  Her  eyes  were  shining,  although  her 
mask  smiled  at  him  vacuously  as  she  said : 

"You  are  a  most  unusual  young  man.  You 
awaken  something  strange  within  me.  I  cannot 
despise  you  as  I  should,  for  you  have  taken  away 
my  reason.  That  is  disturbing,  is  it  not  ?  Now, 

29 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

then,  avail  yourself  of  the  hospitality  of  the  man 
who  has  robbed  you.  I  shall  return  as  fast  as 
ever  my  feet  will  bring  me."  She  waved  him  a 
kiss  and  was  gone. 

He  heard  the  front  door  close.  Then  he  en- 
deavored to  piece  out  some  .theory  as  to  the  cause 
of  this  situation,  but  the  more  he  considered  the 
clues  in  his  possession  the  more  bewildered  he 
became.  One  thing  only  stood  out  with  alarming 
certainty — his  cousin  Madelon  had  gone  to  fetch 
a  woman  who  loved  him.  So  long  as  the  ad- 
venture had  concerned  him  only  with  the  masked 
girl  herself  he  had  been  eager  to  continue  it. 
Now  that  it  threatened  to  involve  a  second  woman, 
he  decided  it  was  time  to  go. 

She  would  return  and  find  him  gone.  It  would 
be  a  disappointment,  perhaps,  but  not  so  great  as 
his  own  at  parting  from  her  and  leaving  this 
mystery  unsolved.  He  was  somewhat  proud  of 
his  exploits  thus  far,  for  in  an  hour's  time  he  had 
met  and  bested  two  of  his  enemies  and  had 
changed  a  maiden's  heart.  No  mean  accom- 
plishment for  an  idler !  But  why  did  she  feel  that 
she  ought  to  despise  him?  Why  had  she  risked 
so  much  for  a  man  beloved  by  another?  Why, 
under  these  circumstances,  had  she  welcomed  his 
advances  and  promised  him  a  sight  of  her  face — 
a  kiss,  perhaps?  Above  all,  who  were  the  Black 
Wolf,  the  Spider,  and  Cousin  Alfred  ?  He  gave 
up  puzzling  over  the  affair  and  determined  to  get 
out  of  this  stranger's  house  without  delay. 

3° 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

It  was  evident  that  Cousin  Alfred  was  a  person 
of  substance,  for  the  study  was  furnished  in  rich 
old  Santo  Domingo  mahogany,  blood-red  and 
flaming  where  the  light  struck  it ;  the  books  were 
bound  in  uniform  levant ;  the  paintings  were  valu- 
able; the  bric-a-brac  in  irreproachable  taste.  An 
inlaid  ivory  humidor  was  filled  with  coronas  at 
exactly  the  right  degree  of  moisture.  He  removed 
the  ground-glass  stopper  from  an  etched  decanter 
and  sniffed  of  the  contents.  The  aroma  brought 
a  smile  to  his  face,  and,  reflecting  that  the  owner 
had  robbed  him,  he  took  time  to  pour  out  a  drink 
and  to  light  a  fragrant  cigar.  All  gentlemanly 
housebreakers  did  the  like,  he  reflected.  Then 
he  yielded  to  a  whimsical  notion  and  fumbled  in 
his  pocket,  thinking  to  leave  the  price  of  his  re- 
freshments on  the  tray. 

Midway  in  this  purpose  he  paused.  The 
breath  hung  in  his  throat,  the  hair  at  the  back 
of  his  neck  seemed  to  rise.  He  had  heard  no  one 
enter  the  house,  there  had  been  no  faintest  stir 
since  Madelon  had  left,  he  detected  no  sound 
whatever,  and  yet  he  was  positive  that  eyes  were 
boring  into  his  back — that  he  was  no  longer  alone. 
It  was  ridiculous,  and  yet —  A  gentle  cough 
sounded  behind  him! 

With  a  swift  gesture  he  settled  his  mask  back 
in  place  and,  whirling  around,  beheld  the  most 
evil-appearing  human  being  he  had  ever  seen. 
The  man  was  little  and  stooped  and  undersized, 
all  but  his  head,  which  was  unusually  large.  His 

31 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

face  was  fleshless  and  covered  with  a  tight  skin 
of  unusual  pallor.  He  was  bowing  at  Van  Dam, 
but  his  smile  was  mocking  and  his  eyes  glittered 
malignantly. 

"Good  day,  Monsieur  Black  Wolf,"  said  the 
stranger,  harshly.  "Making  yourself  at  home 
with  my  wines,  as  usual,  eh?" 

Van  Dam  felt  the  cold  sweat  leap  out  upon  his 
body;  he  cursed  the  deliberation  that  had  be- 
trayed him.  With  an  assumption  of  indifference 
he  mumbled  something  and  waved  his  cigar  care- 
lessly. 

"How  often  must  I  tell  you  to  come  here  only 

xat  night?"  snarled  the  old  man.     "Already  the 

police  are  suspicious.     Fortunately,  it  is  carnival 

day — I  dare  say  no  one  suspected  you  in  that 

disguise." 

The  speaker  deposited  his  hat  upon  the  table 
with  a  sour  glance;  then,  when  his  caller  said 
nothing,  he  snapped: 

"Well,  well?     What  is  it?" 

Van  Dam  was  at  a  loss  for  words;  he  was  panic- 
stricken;  but  swift  upon  his  consternation  came  a 
reckless  determination  to  take  advantage  of  the 
old  gentleman's  first  mistake  and  to  try  to  brazen 
the  matter  through.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
gained  by  explanation;  no  one  would  believe  his 
story.  He  spoke  out  boldly. 

"The  Wolf  is  hurt,  and  the  Spider,  I  think,  has 
his  neck  very  neatly  broken.  I  came  to  tell  you 
that  your  cousin  Emile  is  in  the  city." 

32 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

The  effect  of  these  words  was  amazing,  electric. 
Cousin  Alfred  turned  a  corpselike  green;  he  froze 
in  his  tracks;  his  eyes  rolled  in  their  sockets. 

"Emile!  Here!"  His  teeth  chattered,  he 
plucked  at  his  collar  as  if  he  were  strangling. 
"Then — you?  Who  are  you?" 

Roly  shrugged.  "I  am  one  of  the  others.  I 
was  sent  to  warn  you."  He  recognized  now  the 
character  of  the  old  fellow's  emotion.  It  was 
cowardice,  terror,  but  of  such  utter  foulness  as  to 
be  disgusting. 

Evidently  this  Emile,  whoever  he  was,  had  a 
reputation.  Roly  multiplied  his  host's  discom- 
fiture by  adding: 

"Yes;  he  struck  down  the  Wolf  in  the  street; 
then  dropped  the  Spider  on  his  head  from  the  top 
of  a  staircase." 

"God  help  us!"  stammered  Cousin  Alfred. 
"He  will  take  me  next!  Oh,  he  has  threatened 
me —  He  cast  a  frightened  glance  over  his 
shoulder,  as  if  expecting  the  sanguinary  Emile  to 
appear  at  any  moment.  Then  he  began  to  whine : 
"I  know  him,  I  know  him.  And  the  servants 
gone!  I — I  am  an  old  man;  he  would  like  noth- 
ing better  than  to  find  me  alone.  But  how — how 
dared  he  come?  Wait!  It  was  Felice.  Ho!  I'll 
wager  she  sent  for  him;  and  he  would  not  refuse, 
the  scoundrel!"  The  speaker's  lips  were  wet  and 
loose,  his  gaze  was  very  evil  as  he  mumbled  along. 

Felice  must  be  the  other  girl,  the  one  for  whom 
Madelon  had  gone,  Roly  decided.  In  view  of 

33 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

Alfred's  evident  hatred,  it  did  not  seem  right  to 
allow  Madelon  to  bring  the  other  girl  without  some 
warning.  One  glance  at  those  working  features 
convinced  the  young  man  that  such  a  meeting 
would  be  dangerous;  and  yet  he  was  quite  at  a 
loss  how  to  prevent  it.  His  host  was  running  on. 

"It  was  only  yesterday  that  she  appealed  to  me, 
she  and  Madelon,  and  all  the  time  they  knew  he 
was  coming."  He  ground  his  teeth.  "I  have 
been  a  fool  to  spare  them  so  long." 

"  This  Felice,"  Van  Dam  ventured,  groping 
blindly  for  some  clue,  "your  cousin  Emile  is  fond 
of  her,  I  judge." 

"Damnation!  He  would  pass  through  fire  for 
her.  And  she  would  sacrifice  her  soul  for  him." 
Alfred  poured  himself  a  drink  with  shaking  hand. 
The  glass  rattled  against  the  decanter;  he  spilled 
the  wine  over  his  waistcoat  as  he  gulped  it. 

"So  they  planned  to  catch  me  napping,  eh? 
But  we  shall  see.  Yes,  yes!  We  shall  see." 
After  a  moment,  during  which  he  pulled  himself 
together,  he  continued:  "You  shall  remain  here 
with  me.  When  he  comes  we  shall  afford  him  a 
surprise."  He  slid  open  a  drawer  in  the  big  desk 
and  took  from  it  a  revolver,  at  which  Roly  ex- 
claimed : 

"I  say — whatever  makes  you  think  he'll  come 
here?"  ' 

"Oh,  he  will  come!  There  is  no  doubt  of  it. 
He  has  promised  me  that  much.  Those  were  his 
last  words — 

34 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

"Er — why  don't  you  clear  out?  You  don't  have 
to  stay  and  see  him." 

But  the  old  man's  eyes  were  red  and  vindictive 
as  he  shook  his  head.  "You  don't  understand. 
So  long  as  he  lives  we  are  none  of  us  safe,  not 
even  you.  Besides,  he  would  return  again;  he 
hangs  upon  me  like  a  leech.  I — I  dream  about 
him." 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"If  I — if  I  should  kill  him,  the  law  would  say 
nothing.  I  could  kill  him  very  easily  and  nothing 
would  be  said.  You  understand?"  Cousin  Al- 
fred's lips  were  watery;  little  drops  of  moisture 
gleamed  upon  his  sallow  face;  he  eyed  the  pistol 
with  a  shrinking  fascination.  "I — I—  He  fell 
to  trembling  weakly,  as  his  first  desperation  cooled. 

Van  Dam  watched  him  curiously.  He  looked 
up,  at  length,  to  meet  Roly's  gaze.  His  own 
eyes  were  wavering;  his  face  was  distorted  with 
mingled  fear  and  eagerness.  He  stretched  his 
neck,  as  if  he  already  felt  on  it  the  fingers  of  his 
cousin  Emile.  When  Van  Dam  did  not  offer  to 
help  him  he  whined :  ' '  He  has  always  intended  to 
even  up  the  score;  but  I  am  an  old  man.  My 
hand  is  unsteady.  Perhaps  you —  It  would  be 
worth  something  to  escape  those  dreams!  I 
could  afford  to  pay  well,  as  you  know.  You  are 
a  strong  man.  You  have  no  nerves;  your  hand 
is  sure — "  The  old  villain's  expression  was 
crafty;  he  was  gnawed  by  a  fierce  desire  that  he 
was  loath  to  put  into  words. 

35 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

"You  mean  you'd  like  to  have  me  make  away 
with  him?"  queried  Van  Dam,  as  if  in  a  dream. 

' '  Yes,  yes !     The  law  would  say  nothing. ' ' 

"How  so?  It's  not  so  easy  to  kill  a  man 
and—" 

"But  the  reward — two  thousand  dollars!  You 
would  get  that.  I  will  double  it.  Eh?  Come 
now,  is  it  a  bargain  ?"  The  speaker  was  trembling, 
but  when  he  received  no  answer  he  went  on:  "I 
will  take  the  blame  upon  myself.  I  will  say  that 
I  did  it;  and  you  will  get  the  money — four 
thousand  dollars.  Let  us  say  five  thousand,  eh? 
A  tidy  sum  for  a  moment's  work  with  no  risk. 
We  are  alone  in  the  house.  No  one  but  the  Wolf 
knows  you  are  here.  Even  I  don't  know—  By 
the  way,  I — I  haven't  seen  you  yet." 

"Under  the  circumstances,  I  think  I'll  keep  my 
mask  on,"  Van  Dam  answered.  "Perhaps  the 
less  you  know  about  me,  the  better." 

"Then  you  agree?"  queried  the  other,  all 
ashake. 

Roly  declined  with  a  gesture. 

"Eh,  God!  Five  thousand  dollars !  A  fortune, 
indeed !  Think  of  it !  Heaven  knows  I  am  not  a 
Crcesus,  and  yet — I  might  increase  even  that  a 
little.  What  do  you  say?  Six  thousand,  then, 
all  cash?" 

"This  is  the  money  you  stole  from  Emile,  I 
believe,"  said  Van  Dam.  "You  could  afford  even 
more — " 

"Seven  thousand  five  hundred!  "  chattered  Al- 
36 


fred.      "Not  another  cent,  or  I  shall  do  it  my- 
self." 

' '  Good !  You  do  it !"  Roly  exclaimed ;  whereat 
the  tempter  writhed  and  shivered  in  an  ague  of 
fear.  With  a  wail  that  came  like  a  sob  and  with  a 
final  wrench  of  his  miserly  soul,  he  exclaimed : 

"Wait,  then!  I  will  pay  you  ten  thousand 
dollars  if  you  kill  him.  The  money  is  there.  It 
will  bankrupt  me;  but —  God  above!  Ten 
thousand  dollars !  It  is  scarcely  worth  it — such  a 
little  job!" 

"How  do  I  know  you'd  make  good?"  inquired 
the  young  man.  "You  robbed  him.  You  might 
rob  me." 

"I  have  promised!  It  is  there — in  the  safe. 
The  moment  he  is  dead — 

"Bah!"  Mr.  Van  Dam  managed  a  mocking 
laugh,  although  his  heart  was  pounding.  "Your 
word  is  worth  nothing  to  me." 

Alfred  made  answer  by  slipping  across  the  room 
and  kneeling  before  the  steel  safe.  He  spun  the 
knob  swiftly  to  right  and  to  left,  then  gave  a 
wrench,  and  the  massive  door  opened. 

"Come  here!" 

Van  Dam  obeyed. 

"Look!" 

He  saw  legal  documents,  deeds,  mortgages,  and 
blue  envelopes,  all  neatly  marked,  then  a  cash- 
drawer  crowded  full  of  symmetrical  packages  of 
crisp,  new  ten-dollar  bills,  each  with  its  bank  band 
plainly  labeled  "$iooo." 

37 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

"Eh?  Are  you  satisfied?"  The  owner  was 
staring  craftily  up  at  him,  careful  to  keep  his  body 
between  Van  Dam  and  the  treasure. 

"Jove!"  Roly  exclaimed  in  astonishment. 
"You'll  be  robbed  some  night." 

"Is  it  a  bargain?" 

"I'm  no  business  man."  The  masker  hesitated 
with  an  air  of  extreme  suspicion.  "Will  you  pay 
in  advance?" 

At  this,  Cousin  Alfred  uttered  a  bleat  of  dismay, 
but  Roly  was  firm. 

"I'm  not  sure  you'd  open  the  safe  again,  don't 
you  see?  Besides,  it  would  take  time,  and — I'd 
prefer  not  to  wait;  really  I  would,  for  I'm  always 
a  bit  nervous  after  a  job  of  this  kind." 

"Listen,  then,"  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "I 
will  close  the  safe,  but  I  will  leave  the  combination 
off.  See!  We  must  each  run  some  risk  in  this 
matter,  I  suppose;  but — I  trust  you.  Once  it  is 
over,  there  will  be  no  delay.  A  moment  and  you 
can  be  away  with  ten  thousand  dollars  in  your 
pocket — and  with  me  to  do  the  explaining." 

Why  he  had  allowed  the  affair  to  run  to  so 
extraordinary  a  length  Van  Dam  hardly  knew, 
except  that  he  wished  to  gain  time.  He  had  no 
idea  that  the  mysterious  Emile  would  really  come 
to  the  house,  for  Madelon  had  as  much  as  told 
him  that  a  far  different  reason  lay  behind  the 
young  man's  presence  in  the  city. 

What  did  concern  Roly,  however,  the  more  he 
considered  it,  was  the  possible  consequence  if  the 

38 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

two  girls  returned.  Thus  far  he  had  been  able  to 
meet  each  new  surprise,  each  fresh  situation,  with 
a  resource  that  amazed  himself,  but  if  they  came 
face  to  face  with  him  and  Alfred,  his  own  mas- 
querade would  end  at  once  and  disastrous  explana- 
tions would  certainly  follow.  Nevertheless,  he 
could  not  run  away  and  leave  them  in  an  awkward 
position.  As  he  looked  back  over  the  fantastic 
occurrences  of  the  past  hour  or  more  it  amused 
and  amazed  him  to  realize  how  nicely  he  had 
fitted  into  the  puzzle — and  puzzle  it  surely  was; 
for  the  whole  sequence  of  events  that  had  followed 
the  purchase  of  the  white  gardenia  that  lay  above 
his  heart  was  now  more  bewildering  than  ever. 

That  there  was  something  more  than  mere 
roguery  afoot  he  had  ample  proof.  He  felt  him- 
self groping  along  the  edge  of  something  vague 
and  black  and  sinister.  But  what  it  was,  what 
were  the  issues,  or  who  were  the  people  involved, 
he  had  not  the  slightest  conception.  Of  one  thing 
only  was  he  sure,  Madelon  had  no  place  in  this 
elaborate  web  and  woof  of  crime.  She  had  im- 
pressed him  more  deeply  even  than  he  had 
realized,  and  his  main  anxiety  now,  outside  of  a 
desire  to  protect  her  from  the  venom  of  this 
poisonous  old  man,  was  to  see  her  face,  to  lift  with 
his  own  fingers  the  mask  that  had  so  tantalized 
him. 

The  owner  of  the  house  was  busily  arranging 
the  plans  for  Emile's  destruction  when  the  door- 
bell rang.  He  clutched  his  guest  nervously  by  the 

39 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

arm  and  thrust  the  revolver  into  his  hand,  whis- 
pering : 

"It  is  he!  The  scoundrel  has  arrived!  Quickly 
now — behind  the  door!" 

But  Roly  stepped  to  a  front  window  and, 
cautiously  drawing  the  curtain  aside,  peered  out. 
He  saw  what  he  had  feared — the  figure  of  a  petite 
Norman  maid,  and  beside  it  that  of  a  masked 
woman  in  a  long,  dark  robe. 

"Well,  now!  Who  can  it  be?"  he  heard  Alfred 
whisper,  and  discovered  the  senile  villain  peering 
past  his  shoulder. 

"It  is  Madelon  and  Felice,"  Roly  explained. 

"They!  Here?  Wait!  I  will  give  them  a 
cursing  to  remember."  But  before  the  speaker 
could  move  he  found  his  arms  pinioned  behind  him 
and  his  own  weapon  pointed  at  his  head.  He 
uttered  a  squeak  of  amazement  and  terror.  "Mon 
Dieu!  What  is  this?" 

' '  Shut  up !"  Roly  dragged  the  old  man  from  the 
window,  stripped  a  thick  curtain  cord  from  its 
hook,  and  knotted  his  wrists  together. 

Alfred  offered  no  resistance ;  a  horrible  fear  had 
him  by  the  throat;  he  hung  like  a  sack  in  the 
younger  man's  grasp.  His  eyes  alone  retained 
their  activity.  These  followed  Van  Dam  in  a 
horrified  stare ;  they  seemed  about  to  emerge  from 
their  sockets. 

Roly  deposited  his  limp  captive  in  a  chair  and, 
stepping  to  the  window,  tapped  sharply.  When 
Madelon  looked  up  he  signaled  her  to  wait.  The 

40 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

hall  portieres  furnished  another  cord  for  Cousin 
Alfred's  ankles,  and  a  handkerchief  served  as  a 
gag.  As  this  was  being  adjusted,  however,  the 
captive  quavered,  hoarsely : 

"Who — are  you?" 

"I?"  Roly  laughed.  "Why,  I  am  your  cousin 
Emile!" 

The  householder  voiced  a  thin  shriek  and 
began  to  plead  for  his  life.  Then  the  remnants  of 
his  strength  escaped,  leaving  him  a  spineless  heap 
in  the  great  leather  chair. 

Van  Dam  bore  him  in  his  arms  down  the  hall, 
searching  for  a  place  of  concealment.  This  he 
found  in  a  closet,  the  door  of  which  he  closed. 
Then  he  hastened  back  to  the  front  entrance. 

"You  kept  us  waiting  sufficiently,"  Madelon 
said,  as  he  stepped  aside  for  the  two  women  to 
enter. 

Roly's  eyes  were  glued  upon  the  taller  of  the 
two  figures,  but  Felice  seemed  to  take  no  heed  of 
him.  He  heard  her  murmuring  in  a  sick,  eager 
voice : 

"Emile!     My  own  beloved!     Emile!" 

Madelon  raised  her  hand  in  a  warning  gesture 
and  the  young  man  shrank  closer  into  the  shadows. 

"Courage,  dear!"  she  said  to  her  companion. 
"We  have  arrived  at  last.  A  moment  now  and 
he  will  come."  She  half  led,  half  supported  the 
taller  woman  into  the  library.  The  next  instant 
she  was  back  at  Van  Dam's  side.  Drawing  him 
into  the  parlor,  across  the  hall,  she  exclaimed  in  a 
4  41 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

voice  which  showed  that  tears  were  in  her  eyes: 
"Thank  Heaven,  no  one  recognized  us!  But  I 
was  weak  with  fright.  Oh!  It  was  pitiful!  I 
have  wept  at  every  step.  She  has  been  calling 
you  like  that,  night  and  day.  Go — quickly!" 
She  removed  his  mask  and  thrust  him  into  the  hall. 

This  was  the  most  embarrassing  moment  Van 
Dam  had  experienced  thus  far.  He  had  been  pre- 
pared to  face  eventual  discovery,  and  had  decided 
to  make  a  clean  breast  of  his  part  in  this  comedy 
when  the  necessary  moment  arrived,  but — this 
was  altogether  different.  Felice  was  ill,  half- 
demented.  What  might  be  the  effect  upon  her 
of  this  disclosure?  There  was  nothing  to  do, 
however,  but  to  face  it  out  and  to  make  the  truth 
known  as  quickly  and  as  gently  as  possible. 

But  as  he  entered  the  study  he  received  a  sur- 
prise that  robbed  the  adventure  of  all  its  enter- 
tainment, that  changed  this  comedy  into  a  tragedy 
and  humbled  the  man's  reckless  spirit. 


in 


VAN  DAM  saw  that  which  filled  him  with  an 
aching  pity;  for,  instead  of  a  girl,  he  found 
awaiting  him  a  frail,  sweet-faced  old  woman 
whose  fingers  were  locked  as  if  in  prayer,  whose 
lips  were  murmuring  the  name  of  her  son.  Her 
hair,  softer  and  finer  than  silken  floss,  was  silvery 
white;  her  wistful,  wrinkled  countenance  was 

42 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

ablaze  with  a  glad  excitement  that  made  it 
glorious  and  holy.  That  which  caused  Van  Dam's 
heart  to  melt  and  to  turn  away  completely,  how- 
ever, was  the  fact  that  she  was  blind. 

She  had  heard  his  step,  muffled  as  it  was  in  the 
inch-thick  carpet,  and  rose  with  a  tender  cry, 
pausing  with  her  arms  outstretched,  her  body 
shaken  by  an  ecstasy  of  yearning. 

"Emile!  Emile!"  she  whispered,  and  came 
toward  him.  Her  sightless  eyes  were  wet;  she 
was  trembling  terribly. 

Van  Dam  experienced  a  desire  to  flee.  He 
tried  to  speak  and  to  warn  her  off,  but  as  the 
feeble  figure  swayed  toward  him,  the  age-old,  ap- 
palling tragedy  of  mother  love  caused  his  throat 
to  tighten.  Then  he  took  her  hands  in  his;  his 
arms  enfolded  her.  She  lay  against  his  breast, 
weeping  softly,  gladly,  while  he  bowed  his  head 
reverently  over  hers.  Had  his  life  depended  upon 
his  speaking,  he  could  not  have  done  so.  He 
merely  waited,  with  a  sick  feeling  of  dread,  the 
instant  of  her  awakening.  He  was  vaguely  sur- 
prised as  moment  followed  moment  and  it  did 
not  come.  Then  he  discovered  the  explanation. 
Grief  had  set  her  wits  to  wandering;  days  and 
weeks  and  months  of  yearning  had  burned  away 
some  part  of  her  faculties,  leaving  her  possessed 
by  such  a  reasonless  hunger  that  almost  any  ob- 
ject would  have  served  to  fill  her  want.  He  had 
heard  of  demented  mothers  whose  minds  had  been 
saved  by  the  substitution  of  a  living  for  a  dead 

43 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

child,  and  it  seemed  that  this  was  a  similar  case; 
for  she  was  flooded  now  with  a  supreme  content 
and  appeared  to  experience  no  suspicion  of  fraud. 

The  touch  of  her  fluttering  fingers  on  his  cheek 
was  like  the  caress  of  butterfly  wings;  her  voice 
was  soft;  her  words,  though  wandering,  were  ten- 
der and  filled  with  such  a  heaven-born  adoration 
that  his  distress  was  multiplied.  This  was  her 
hour,  he  reflected.  Perhaps  an  all-wise  Providence 
had  selected  him  to  fill  this  part  and  to  bring 
glory  to  her  withered  heart.  At  any  rate,  he 
would  have  been  unspeakably  cruel  to  disillusionize 
her. 

He  led  her  to  a  chair,  then  knelt  and  bowed  his 
head  to  her  straying  fingers,  murmuring  those 
terms  of  endearment  which  cause  a  mother's 
breast  to  thrill.  When  he  looked  up  to  Madelon, 
at  last,  she  saw  that  he  was  crying — quite  like  a 
little  boy. 

From  the  disconnected  words  that  fell  from  the 
blind  woman's  lips  he  began,  after  a  time,  to 
piece  the  truth  together. 

Emile  had  been  an  only  son,  a  paragon  of  manly 
virtues,  the  keeper  of  his  mother's  soul.  There 
had  come  a  great  shock  and  a  great  disgrace  that 
had  evidently  conspired  to  unseat  her  reason. 
She  spoke  indirectly  of  them,  as  a  child  marked 
by  some  prenatal  influence  recoils  at  contact  with 
the  cause  of  its  infirmity.  Then,  it  seemed, 
Madelon  had  come  to  watch  over  and  to  comfort 
her,  filling  a  son's  place  with  a  daughter's  devotion. 

44 


THE   CRIMSON   GARDENIA 

There  had  been  persecution,  want,  the  loss  of 
property  through  an  enemy  of  whom  the  mother 
spoke  ramblingly.  Van  Dam  recollected  the 
dried-up  villain  in  the  closet  down  the  hall,  and 
felt  a  flame  of  rage  mount  through  him.  He 
longed  mightily  to  ask  questions,  to  run  the 
matter  down  without  delay,  but  dared  not,  for 
he  was  in  momentary  dread  that  the  imposture 
would  be  discovered.  So  he  spoke  as  infre- 
quently as  possible,  and  substituted  for  words 
those  gentle  caresses  and  endearing  attentions 
that  are  far  more  welcome  to  a  starving  heart. 
Madelon  remained  close  by,  adding  a  grain  of 
comfort  and  encouragement  now  and  then,  and 
regarding  Van  Dam  with  a  strangely  bewildered 
attention. 

But  the  mother  was  far  from  strong.  Her  ex- 
citement had  wearied  her,  and  now,  with  the  re- 
laxation of  contentment,  fatigue  stole  over  her. 
She  lay  back  among  the  soft  cushions,  her  restless 
hands  moving  more  slowly,  her  gentle  voice  stilled. 
She  dozed  at  last,  her  face  serene  and  beatific. 

Madelon  motioned  to  Van  Dam,  and  he  rose. 
Noiselessly  they  stole  across  the  hall  and  into  the 
drawing-room,  leaving  the  placid  figure  in  repose. 

She  turned  upon  him,  saying,  doubtfully: 
"With  every  moment  you  surprise  me,  Emile. 
You  are  not  at' all  what  I  expected,  not  at  all  the 
cousin  of  whom  I  have  heard  so  much!  Even  in 
looks  you  seem — how  shall  I  say  it? — strange." 

"Are  you  pleased  or  disappointed?" 
45 


THE   CRIMSON   GARDENIA 

"Ah!  Pleased!  I — I  feel  that  I  must  weep. 
You  are  so  brave  and  strong,  and  yet  so  gentle,  so 
sweet !  Perhaps  only  a  mother  recognizes  the  good 
that  is  in  one.  That  scene  in  yonder  was  very- 
touching.  I — I  can  hardly  credit  my  ears  and  my 
eyes." 

"It's  plain  you  have  a  wrong  idea  of  me.  I'm 
not  at  all  a  bad  sort." 

"So  I  begin  to  believe,  in  spite  of  everything. 
La!  It  is  confusing.  I  am  all  in  a  whirl."  She 
uttered  a  hesitating,  silvery  little  laugh  that 
proved  her  embarrassment. 

"We  must  speak  quickly,"  he  said.  "I  am  also 
greatly  confused.  You  have  opened  up  a  great 
possibility  for  me,  Madelon.  The  whole  world  is 
suddenly  different.  I — I  think  I  am  in  love  with 
you,  my  little  cousin." 

She  flung  out  her  hand  to  check  him,  crying: 
' '  No,  no !  I  could  never  love  you !" 

Her  voice  was  uncertain,  and  he  imprisoned  her 
outstretched  palm.  Then,  with  his  free  hand,  he 
removed  her  mask.  She  made  no  resistance,  she 
did  not  even  draw  away  from  him.  His  heart 
leaped  wildly  at  the  face  he  saw;  for  it  was  more 
perfect  even  than  he  had  imagined.  The  eyes 
were  deep  brown,  the  skin  was  smooth  and  olive- 
hued,  the  lips  were  red  and  pouting  with  em- 
barrassment. She  met  his  hungry  gaze  with  a 
flaming  blush  of  defiance;  then  she  smiled  pa- 
thetically, and  without  further  delay  he  drew 
her  to  him  and  kissed  her  once,  twice,  again  and 

46 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

again,  until  she  lay,  spent  and  shaken,  in  his  arms. 
After  a  time,  she  said,  wonderingly : 

"What  miracle  is  this?  I  have  always  hated 
you;  I — hate  you  now  when  I  think  of  the  evil 
you  have  done.  I  shall  continue  to  hate  you." 

"I  hardly  believe  that." 

"It  is  very  sad  that  this  has  come  to  pass;  it 
means  nothing  but  unhappiness." 

"How  so?" 

"Can  you  ask?  You — a  refugee,  with  a  price 
upon  your  head!"  She  shuddered  and  buried  her 
face  against  his  shoulder.  "Why  have  you  made 
me  love  you?" 

"It  was  fate,  my  little  witch.  If  you  will  trust 
me,  all  will  come  out  right  in  the  end.  But  there 
is  a  great  deal  here  that  I  don't  understand.  For 
instance,  how  came  you  two  to  be  in  want?" 

"Surely  you  know  as  well  as  I." 

"I  do  not." 

"But  I  wrote—" 

' '  Letters  go  astray.     Tell  me. ' ' 

"There  is  little  to  tell.  We  hardly  know  our- 
selves, except  that  we  trusted  in  our  good  cousin 
Alfred,  as  you  trusted.  He  is  a  snake!"  She 
clutched  Roland  fiercely  by  the  folds  of  his 
domino.  ' '  Oh !  It  is  too  bad  that  I  did  not  know 
you  sooner,  Emile !  I  would  have  saved  you  from 
those  evil  men ;  for  I  am  very  wise.  But  now  you 
must  suffer  the  punishment  for  your  crime;  and  I 
must  suffer  also.  It  is  hardly  just,  is  it?" 

"Suppose  I  told  you — er — I  am  innocent?" 
47 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

"Please!"  One  rosy  palm  closed  his  lips.  "You 
must  never  lie  to  me,  even  to  promote  my  happi- 
ness. No!  When  a  woman  loves,  she  loves 
blindly,  without  reason,  regardless  of  her  lover's 
unworthiness.  You  have  brought  misery  to  me 
as  you  brought  it  to — her.  Perhaps  you,  too,  will 
suffer,  as  a  punishment." 

"And  why  have  you  devoted  yourself  to  my 
mother?"  he  inquired. 

"I  love  her.  I  am  alone  in  the  world.  We  are 
poor  together.  Cousin  Alfred  has  my  money,  too, 
you  understand." 

Van  Dam  was  tempted,  as  upon  several  former 
occasions,  to  tell  her  the  truth,  but  a  sudden  idea 
occurred  to  him — an  idea  so  inspiring,  so  brilliant, 
that  it  brought  an  exclamation  to  his  lips. 

"Wait  here  for  a  moment,"  he  said,  and,  leaving 
her,  he  stole  into  the  library.  With  an  eye  upon 
the  sleeping  figure,  he  knelt  before  the  safe  and 
turned  the  knob.  It  opened  noiselessly;  and  the 
sight  of  the  close-packed  cash-drawer  filled  him 
with  a  tremendous  merriment.  It  was  exhilarat- 
ing, it  was  God-like  to  be  endowed  with  the  power 
of  restitution  and  retribution.  He  greatly  en- 
joyed the  feel  of  the  crisp  new  bank-notes  as  he 
emptied  the  compartment  and  assembled  the 
packages  into  a  bundle.  He  was  amazed  at  the 
amount  represented.  There  must  have  been 
twenty  thousand  dollars,  all  in  those  smooth,  un- 
soiled  ten-dollar  bills.  Evidently  the  old  miser 
preferred  lock  and  key  to  a  banker's  vagaries. 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

Naughty  Alfred,  to  rob  widows  and  orphans  ! 
Well,  he  had  been  warned  of  the  danger  of  robbery. 
Van  Dam  predicted  apoplexy  for  the  owner  when 
he  discovered  his  loss. 

The  girl  was  waiting  where  he  had  left  her,  but 
when  she  discovered  the  nature  of  the  gift  he  bore, 
she  drew  back  in  amazement. 

"Come!  Come!"  he  said.  "It  belongs  to  you 
and— Felice." 

"But—    MonDieu!" 

"I  have  prospered.  A  lucky  speculation — a 
gift  from  the  gods,  as  it  were !  You  need  have  no 
hesitation  in  accepting  it,  for  it  is  yours.  And  no 
one  can  take  it  from  you,  not  even  Cousin  Alfred." 

She  was  still  protesting,  when  they  heard  the 
mother  call. 

"This  money — another  miracle!"  Madelon  ex- 
claimed. "It  is  wonderful!  I  feel  that  I  am 
dreaming.  But  come!  We  have  overstayed;  we 
may  be  discovered  at  any  moment." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  again  and  whispered  his 
adoration.  "I  am  coming  to  find  you,  Madelon. 
I  have  the  power  to  work  miracles,  you  see." 

"No,  no!  If  you  care  for  me,  you  must  guard 
yourself.  Perhaps  after  many  years — perhaps 
when  you  have  shown  yourself  worthy,  and  the 
world  has  forgotten — then — "  She  shivered  at 
thought  of  the  weary  wait  ahead  of  her;  her 
lips  quivered  pathetically. 

There  were  many  things  he  wished  to  ask  her; 
the  hunger  to  retain  her  in  his  arms  was  almost  un- 

49 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

bearable.  But  now  that  she  had  been  reawakened 
to  the  perils  of  their  situation  she  allowed  him  no 
opportunity.  She  tore  her  lips  reluctantly  from 
his;  she  held  him  off  in  an  agony  of  pleading, 
and  when  the  mother's  voice  sounded  a  second 
time  they  returned  hand  in  hand  to  the  study. 

There  followed  a  touching  farewell  as  the  blind 
woman  clung  shakingly  to  the  gentle  impostor, 
praying  for  his  safety,  imploring  him  piteously  to 
be  a  good  man  and  to  walk  in  the  shadow  of 
righteousness.  Then  came  a  lingering,  heart- 
breaking caress,  and  once  more  the  three  were  at 
the  front  door. 

Van  Dam  seized  the  girl's  fingers  and  kissed 
them,  while  the  look  in  his  eyes  brought  tears  to 
hers.  Then  they  were  gone ;  and  he  stood  alone  in 
the  hall  of  the  house  he  had  robbed. 

He  remained  motionless  for  a  time,  lost  in  a 
blissful  intoxication.  Was  this  strange,  new-born 
delirium — love?  It  must  be,  it  could  be,  nothing 
else.  It  was  quite  amazing,  utterly  bewildering. 
He  had  never  dreamed  of  anything  at  all  like  it. 
He  felt  a  desire  to  cry  aloud  the  news  of  this 
marvel;  he  was  melting  with  pain  and  gladness; 
something  inside  him  was  singing  gloriously.  At 
thought  of  Madelon's  deep,  wide  eyes,  of  her  ten- 
der lips,  dewy  with  the  birth  of  passion,  his  muscles 
swelled  and  the  whole  world  seemed  to  applaud. 
But  it  was  so  new — so  unbelievable!  The  swift 
rush  of  this  afternoon's  events  had  left  him  in  a 
dizzy  whirl.  An  hour  ago  he  had  been  deaf,  dumb, 


THE    CRIMSON   GARDENIA 

and  blind,  but  he  had  suddenly  regained  his  every 
sense.  He  was  no  longer  blas£;  he  was  awake 
with  yearnings  and  appreciations.  Madelon  had 
taught  him  the  greatest  secret  of  the  universe. 
Madelon —  But  who  the  devil  was  Madelon? 

Van  Dam  brought  himself  abruptly  out  of  his 
reverie.  There  had  been  enough  mystery  for  one 
day.  Now  for  the  solution  of  this  puzzle.  Back 
yonder,  gagged  and  bound,  was  a  cringing  human 
rat  who  knew  everything  Van  Dam  desired  to 
know,  and  who  would  talk,  if  forced  to  do  so. 
Roly  decided  to  have  the  inmost  details  of  this 
affair,  if  it  became  necessary  to  roast  the  soles 
of  Cousin  Alfred's  feet  over  a  slow  fire  in  order  to 
loosen  his  tongue.  Time  had  flown,  but  there  was 
a  little  margin  left. 

He  hurried  down  the  hall,  flung  open  the  door 
behind  which  his  captive  lay,  then  recoiled,  with 
mouth  agape.  The  closet  was  empty! 

"Alfred!"  he  called.  "Alfred!"  But  his  voice 
echoed  lonesomely  through  the  empty  rooms. 
Not  a  sound  broke  the  silence.  There  on  the 
floor  lay  the  handkerchief  and  the  two  tasseled 
curtain  cords.  He  felt  a  chill  of  apprehension, 
for  unseen  eyes  were  observing  him,  he  was  cer- 
tain. With  that  vindictive  little  ruffian  at  large, 
the  situation  altered;  each  door  might  hide  a 
menace,  each  moment  add  to  his  peril. 

The  thought  of  that  rifled  safe,  and  the  conse- 
quences of  discovery,  convinced  Van  Dam  that 
this  was  no  place  for  a  respectable  New  York 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

society  man,  so  he  clapped  on  his  mask  and  darted 
down  the  hall  toward  the  rear  of  the  house. 

Past  the  pantry  and  into  the  kitchen  he  fled, 
his  precipitate  haste  nearly  causing  him  to  collide 
with  another  masked  figure  that  had  just  entered 
from  the  garden.  Instinctively  the  two  men  re- 
coiled. Van  Dam  saw  that  the  stranger  wore  a 
black  domino  like  his  own,  and  that  a  white 
gardenia  was  pinned  over  his  heart — it  was  a  twin 
to  the  flower  that  reposed  upon  his  own  breast. 

"Emile!"  he  exclaimed. 

With  a  start  the  new-comer  swept  his  mask  down- 
ward, and  simultaneously  he  conjured  an  auto- 
matic revolver  from  some  place  of  concealment. 
The  face  that  he  exposed  was  not  pleasant  to  look 
upon,  for  it  was  coarsened  by  dissipation,  and  the 
eyes  were  both  violent  and  furtive.  Underneath 
his  heavy,  passionate  features,  however,  lay  a 
marked  resemblance  to  the  blind  mother  who  had 
just  left. 

"Yes.  I  am  Emile,"  he  panted;  then,  with  a 
snarl,  he  raised  his  weapon  until  it  bore  upon  Van 
Dam's  breast.  "And  you  are  one  of  the  gang,  eh?" 

"Here!  Don't  point  that  confounded  thing  at 
me.  It  might  go  off."  Roly  brushed  the  mask 
from  his  own  face,  explaining,  "I'm  not  one  of  the 
gang;  I 'ma  friend." 

Emile  eyed  him  intently  before  lowering  his 
weapon.  "I  never  saw  you  before." 

"Of  course  not.  But — come.  We've  both  got 
to  get  out  of  here." 

52 


THE    CRIMSON   GARDENIA 

"Indeed!  I  came  to  see  my  cousin  Alfred.  It 
is  a  little  call  I  promised  him." 

"I  know  everything;  and,  believe  me,  you  have 
no  time  to  lose." 

"How  do  you  come  to  know  so  much?"  de- 
manded Emile,  suspiciously.  ' '  And  what  is  that  ? ' ' 
With  the  muzzle  of  his  weapon  he  indicated  the 
waxen  white  flower  upon  Roly's  domino. 

"There's  no  time  to  explain  everything — but  I 
know  why  you  are  here.  The  old  man  has  gone — 

"Gone!  Bah!  That  is  a  lie.  I  have  followed 
him  all  through  the  city.  I've  been  to  his  office, 
and  they  told  me  he  was  here.  I've  a  little  matter 
to  settle  with  him.  It  will  only  take  a  moment." 

"I  tell  you  he's  gone." 

"Who  the  devil  are  you,  anyhow?  I  have  no 
friends." 

"I  am  Madelon's  fianc6,"  Van  Dam  said,  boldly. 

"Another  He!  She  has  no  fiance."  The  speak- 
er's face  darkened.  "If  she  marries  any  one,  it 
shall  be  me." 

An  unfamiliar  pang  smote  Van  Dam  suddenly, 
but  he  disregarded  it. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  he  insisted.  "I  know  why 
you  came  here,  but  you're  too  late.  Your  mother 
and  Madelon  were  here,  too,  a  moment  ago — " 

"Here?"  exclaimed  the  youth,  incredulously. 

"  Yes  !  Alfred  heard  you  were  in  the  city  and 
he  planned  to  ambush  you;  I  tied  him  up  and 
threw  him  into  a  closet.  Then  I  robbed  his  safe 
and  gave  the  money  to  Madelon  and  your  mother." 

S3 


THE   CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

Emile's  face  was  a  study  at  this  amazing  in- 
telligence. 

"When  I  came  to  look  for  the  old  fellow,  a  mo- 
ment ago,  I  found  he'd  escaped.  I  don't  know 
where  he  has  gone.  That's  why  we'd  better  cut 
and  run  for  it,  before  he  sets  up  an  alarm." 

"Run!"  Emile  shook  his  head.  "I  have  been 
running  —  with  the  Black  Wolf  at  my  heels.  I 
thought  they  had  me  cornered  more  than  once. 
They're  after  me  now,  the  whole  pack." 

"Do  they  know  you're  here?" 

"I  dare  say;  they  were  right  behind  me."  He 
cursed  violently.  "And  to  think  that  I  missed 
Cousin  Alfred,  after  all!" 

"You  had  no  business  in  the  city.  You  must 
get  out  again." 

' '  It's  too  late  now.  Why,  it's  nearly  six  o'clock. 
I  could  never  get  away  before  it's  time  for  masks 
off." 

"Nevertheless,  you  must  try,"  Van  Dam  said, 
decisively.  "If  you  stay  here,  you're  lost.  We'll 
climb  the  fence  at  the  rear  of  the  next  yard  and 
slip  out  through  the  stable  way." 

Emile  pondered  for  a  moment.  "I  hadn't 
thought  of  that.  It's  a  chance,  but  you  can't  go 
with  me.  I  sha'n't  allow  it." 

"Nonsense!" 

"You  don't  know  the  Wolf!  If  I  were  seen  it 
would  mean  the  death  of  both  of  us." 

"Very  well,  then,  I'll  leave  by  the  front  way. 
Now  go!" 

54 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

Van  Dam  half  shoved  the  young  man  toward  the 
door. 

' '  Thanks, ' '  murmured  the  fugitive.  ' '  You  seem 
to  be  the  right  sort.  If  I  live,  I  sha'n't  forget." 
The  next  instant  he  was  gone. 

Roly  watched  him  race  across  the  yard,  squeeze 
through  the  hedge;  then,  an  instant  later,  saw  his 
form  as  he  mounted  the  fence  to  the  wagon  in- 
closure  where  the  Spider  had  gone  to  his  destruc- 
tion earlier  in  the  afternoon.  It  was  a  risky,  route 
to  safety,  he  reflected,  but,  in  view  of  what  Emile 
had  said  about  his  pursuers,  it  was  infinitely 
preferable  to  any  other. 

Why  he  had  helped  the  fellow  Van  Dam  scarcely 
knew,  unless  it  was  because  of  his  sympathy  for 
the  under  dog.  Whatever  the  boy  had  done,  he 
possessed  a  reckless  bravery  that  was  commend- 
able, and  he  still  held  his  mother's  love. 

Roly  was  about  to  close  the  door  when  he  saw  a 
second  man,  in  a  long,  black  domino,  briefly  sil- 
houetted above  the  fence.  Then  he  heard  a 
whistle.  The  fellow  dropped  over  into  the  tracks 
of  Emile,  leaving  the  New-Yorker  amazed  at  the 
apparition.  A  sickening  fear  clutched  Van  Dam, 
but  he  knew  it  was  useless  to  cry  out.  Could  it 
be  that  he  had  sent  the  young  fellow  to  his  death  ? 

When  a  moment,  then  another,  had  passed  with 
no  sound  from  that  quarter,  he  closed  the  kitchen 
door  and  retraced  his  steps  swiftly  to  the  front  of 
the  house. 

As  he  came  to  the  library  entrance  he  found  it 
55 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

closed,  and,  from  inside,  he  heard  a  tinkle  as  if  a 
telephone  hook  was  being  violently  agitated.  In- 
clining his  ear,  a  low,  agonized  voice  came  to 
him: 

" . . .  Le  Due  again. . . .  Why  haven't  you  sent  the 
police?  .  .  .  Robbery.  .  .  .  My  cousin  Emile  .  .  . 
murder  me.  .  .  .  God  above !  They  are  slow !  .  .  . 
He  will  escape.  ..." 

Van  Dam  tried  the  door.  It  was  locked. 
Then  he  called,  sweetly :  "Alfred!  My  dear  cousin 
Alfred!" 

The  voice  at  the  telephone  ended  in  a  shriek. 
There  came  a  crash  as  the  instrument  fell  from 
the  old  man's  fingers. 

So  the  police  were  on  their  way !  Escape,  then, 
must  be  but  a  matter  of  moments.  With  his 
heart  pounding,  Van  Dam  stepped  into  the  draw- 
ing-room and  reconnoitered  from  a  front  window. 
What  he  saw  did  not  reassure  him,  particularly 
in  view  of  Emile's  words;  for,  directly  opposite, 
he  beheld  a  masked  man  in  a  black  domino  who 
looked  very  much  like  the  Black  Wolf.  Scat- 
tered up  and  down  the  block  were  others,  all  idling 
about  in  a  seemingly  objectless  manner.  Evi- 
dently the  house  was  surrounded.  He  dared  not 
risk  the  back  way,  after  what  he  had  seen.  He 
could  not  remain.  From  the  library  again  came 
that  faint,  frantic  tinkling. 

Van  Dam  dropped  his  mask,  tore  the  flimsy  robe 
from  his  back,  and  strode  to  the  front  door. 
Under  any  other  circumstances  he  would  have  pre- 

56 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

ferred  to  remain  and  to  take  the  consequences,  but 
for  Madelon's  sake  he  dare  not  risk  an  explana- 
tion to  the  police.  Besides — how  could  he  explain 
that  twenty  thousand  dollars,  in  clean,  crisp  ten- 
dollar  notes,  that  she  had  in  her  possession?  He 
flung  the  portal  wide,  stepped  out,  then  turned 
and  bowed  as  if  to  some  one  inside.  "Good-by!" 
he  called,  cheerily.  ' ' Had  a  delightful  afternoon. ' ' 
The  door  closed  with  a  click,  and  he  was  in  the 
open  air.  He  extracted  a  cigarette  from  his 
jeweled  case,  noting  from  the  corner  of  his  eye 
that,  with  one  accord,  the  maskers  were  closing 
in  upon  him.  Descending  the  steps,  he  turned  to 
the  left,  walking  briskly. 

His  one  chance  now  depended  upon  whether 
these  men  knew  Emile  by  sight.  If  so,  he  felt 
that  he  was  reasonably  safe.  If  not — 

He  was  approaching  two  of  them.  They 
separated  to  let  him  pass  between.  From  beneath 
their  fatuously  smiling  masks  he  saw  eyes  staring 
at  him  curiously.  The  flesh  along  his  spine 
crinkled  and  rippled,  but  he  did  not  turn  his  head 
or  falter,  even  when  he  knew  they  had  halted. 
He  could  feel  the  puzzled  gaze  of  many  eyes  upon 
him,  and  imagined  the  mystification  his  appear- 
ance had  excited.  In  the  midst  of  their  indecision 
there  sounded  the  faint  clamor  of  a  gong.  It  grew 
rapidly  until,  with  wild  clangor,  a  patrol-wagon 
reeled  into  the  street  and  drew  up  in  front  of  the 
house  Van  Dam  had  just  quitted.  He  turned  as 
a  half-dozen  blue-coats  tumbled  out  of  it  and 
5  57 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

rushed  up  the  steps;  incidentally,  he  saw  that  the 
black-clad  figures  were  melting  away  in  various 
directions. 

Roly  did  not  wait  to  observe  what  followed.  He 
turned  the  first  corner,  then  quickened  his  gait, 
at  the  next  corner  swinging  once  more  to  the  left. 
His  pulses  were  jumping,  his  ears  were  roaring, 
he  found  the  muscles  of  his  jaw  were  aching  from 
the  strain.  A  close  call,  surely!  But  he  had  come 
through  it  all  safely;  he  was  whole,  and  on  his 
way  out  of  this  mysterious  neighborhood.  Once 
more  his  promptness  and  resource  had  saved  him. 
Here  was  the  very  street  up  which  he  and  Madelon 
had  fled;  yonder  was  the  entrance  to  the  blind 
alley  that  led  into  the  stable-yard. 

He  noticed  that  a  little  crowd  was  congregated 
there,  many  of  its  members  in  the  costume  of 
merrymakers.  He  reflected  that  Emile  might 
have  found  their  presence  awkward  in  making  his 
escape.  They  seemed  greatly  excited  or  shocked 
over  something,  he  noted,  as  he  approached. 
They  completely  blocked  the  alley  entrance.  In 
among  them  he  forced  his  way,  then  paused,  star- 
ing down  with  startled  eyes  at  what  he  saw.  A 
babble  of  voices  smote  his  ears,  but  he  heard 
nothing.  He  was  elbowed  aside,  but  his  gaze 
remained  riveted  upon  the  body  of  a  man  in  a 
black  domino.  It  lay  sprawled  in  the  dirt,  and 
covering  the  face  was  a  mask  which  smiled  placidly 
up  at  the  beholders ;  on  the  left  breast  was  pinned 
a  solitary  gardenia,  crimson  with  blood.  It  had 

58 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

been  pierced  with  a  dagger,  and  out  of  it  had 
trickled  a  bright-red  arterial  stream. 

Van  Dam  continued  to  stare  at  the  gruesome 
sight  while  his  wits  whirled  dizzily.  Why,  it  was 
but  a  moment  ago  that  this  boy  had  left  him,  in 
the  full  flower  of  his  youth!  The  body  was  still 
warm.  It  seemed  inconceivable  that  the  grim 
reaper  could  have  worked  this  grisly  change  in  so 
short  a  time!  How  had  it  happened?  He  re- 
called that  somber  figure  as  he  had  seen  it  scaling 
the  fence;  he  recalled  that  warning  whistle.  At 
the  memory  he  turned  sick.  Was  it  possible  that 
he  had  been  to  blame  for  this?  He  shook  the 
notion  from  him,  reflecting  that  Emile's  fate  would 
have  been  the  same,  or  worse,  had  he  chosen  any 
other  course.  Arrest,  he  knew,  would  have  been 
no  more  welcome  than  this. 

Roly  felt  a  great  desire  to  shout  the  truth  at 
these  people  who  stood  about  so  stupidly;  he 
longed  to  set  them  on  the  trail  of  the  Black 
Wolf  and  his  pack,  but  he  refrained.  How  little 
he  really  knew,  after  all!  Who  was  the  Black 
Wolf?  Who  was  this  Emile?  What  had  the 
young  scapegoat  done  to  place  himself  not  only 
outside  the  law,  but  outside  the  good  graces  of 
those  conspirators?  What  intricate  network  of 
hatred  and  crime  was  here  suggested  ?  The  desire 
to  know  the  truth  overcame  all  thought  of  his 
own  safety,  so  he  began  to  question  those  around 
him,  heedless  of  the  fact  that  he  was  being  hunted 
in  this  very  block. 

59 


The  crowd  was  growing.  An  officer  returned 
after  sending  a  call  for  an  ambulance,  and  began 
to  force  the  people  back. 

Van  Dam  discovered  a  voluble  old  woman, 
evidently  a  shopkeeper,  who  seemed  better  in- 
formed than  the  others,  and  to  her  he  applied 
himself. 

"Do  I  know  him,  indeed?"  she  cried,  shrilly,  in 
answer  to  his  question.  "And  who  should  know 
him  better  than  I,  Emile  Le  Due — a  fine  boy,  sir, 
of  the  very  best  family.  Think  of  it!  To  be 
murdered  like  this !  Ah !  That's  what  comes  of  a 
bad  life,  sir.  But  right  at  my  own  doorstep,  as  you 
might  say,  and  in  the  light  of  day !  Well !  Well ! 
What  can  you  expect?  He  must  have  been  mad 
to  return,  with  the  whole  city  knowing  him  so 
well."  She  was  greatly  excited,  and  her  voice 
broke  under  the  stress  of  her  feelings.  "It 
doesn't  help  the  neighborhood,  you  understand,  to 
have  such  things  happen,"  she  ran  on,  "although 
nobody  can  say  it's  not  as  quiet  and  respectable 
hereabouts  as  the  next  place.  You've  noticed 
as  much  yourself,  I  dare  say.  Nothing  ever  hap- 
pens. A  misfortune  to  all  of  us,  I  call  it.  Why, 
it's  barely  two  hours  ago  that  they  brought  a  poor 
fellow  out  of  this  very  alley  with  his  head  lollop- 
ing around  like  a  ball  on  a  string.  He  fell  and 
hurt  himself,  I  hear,  although  he  looked  perfectly 
dead  to  me.  Think  of  that!  Two  in  one  day. 
Oh,  it  doesn't  help  the  neighborhood,  although 
there's  nobody  in  the  whole  block  as  would  do 

60 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

another  an  injury,  unless  it  might  be  that  poor 
boy's  cousin,  the  old  rip  who  lives  in  the  fine 
house  through  yonder.  He's  a  bad  one,  far  worse 
than  Emile,  if  I  do  say  it  who  never  speaks  ill  of 
my  neighbors.  And  there's  others  besides  me 
who'll  be  sorry  it  isn't  him  instead  of  the  young 
man  who  lies  there  with  a  hole  through  his  ribs. 
Why,  I  thought  he  was  some  masquerader,  up  to 
his  carnival  pranks,  or  drunk,  perhaps,  until  I 
noticed  him  all  over  blood." 

Van  Dam  drew  the  speaker  into  her  shop, 
which  was  near  by,  then  handed  her  a  bank-note. 
"Come!  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all  you  know." 

"Ho!  A  detective,  eh?  Not  that  I  wouldn't 
tell  you  all  I  know  without  this —  Ten  dollars,  is 
it?  Peace  and  love!  You  are  generous!  Well, 
then,  he  has  stood  right  in  your  tracks,  in  this 
very  store,  many's  the  time.  Law!  What  a  lad 
he  was !  Nothing  bad  about  him,  but  just  reckless, 
we  used  to  think.  Of  course  that  was  before  we 
learned  the  truth." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  must  be  a  stranger.  Why,  the  whole 
world  knows  the  scandal.  It  made  a  commotion, 
I  can  tell  you.  But  the  poor  lad!  He's  paid  for 
all  his  evil  deeds.  Why,  sir,  he  was  dead  when 
he  walked  out  into  the  street.  He  must  have 
been  a  corpse  even  when  I  took  him  for  a  merry- 
maker. Strange  things  do  happen  on  these  car- 
nival days.  They  must  have  finished  him  with 
one  stroke.  Ugh!" 

61 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

"They?     Whom  do  you  mean?" 

The  old  woman  winked,  and  wagged  her  head 
sagely.  "Oh!  You'll  never  learn  who,  but  we 
know.  You  think  the  gang  was  broken  up  when 
Emile  went  to  prison,  but  where  do  all  these  coun- 
terfeits come  from,  eh?  Answer  me  that.  There's 
not  a  week  goes  by  that  one  of  them  doesn't  find 
its  way  into  my  store.  They're  perfect,  or  nearly 
so;  it  would  take  a  bank- teller  to  find  a  flaw.  I'm 
always  frightened  to  death  till  I  work  them  off 
again.  For  all  I  know,  this  very  ten-dollar  bill 
you  gave  me  is  bad,  but  I'll  risk  it.  Some  people 
don't  seem  to  mind  them  at  all,  and  so  long  as 
there's  a  chance  to  get  rid  of  them,  why,  I  don't 
object.  But  that's  how  it  all  came  about — 
through  counterfeit  money,  sir.  They  used  Emile 
for  a  cat's-paw,  so  I've  heard,  but  when  he  was 
caught  they  let  him  take  his  punishment.  It  was 
his  cousin,  Alfred  Le  Due,  who  got  him  to  confess, 
under  promise  of  a  light  sentence.  They  do  say 
the  old  rascal  fooled  him  into  it,  for  what  reason 
nobody  ever  knew.  Anyhow,  they  sent  Emile 
away  for  ten  years.  He  threatened  to  turn 
state's  evidence,  and  perhaps  he  would  have  done 
so  if  he  hadn't  escaped." 

"Ah!     So  he  broke  jail?" 

"Exactly!  And  they've  been  hunting  him  ever 
since,  with  a  reward  on  his  head,  and  all  the  time 
the  counterfeits  are  still  coming  in,  and  the  police 
are  as  far  from  the  truth  as  ever.  Poor  boy! 
There  he  lies,  dead,  with  a  flower  over  his  heart. 

62 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

And  I  saw  him  fall!  This  will  kill  his  mother. 
She's  blind,  you  know,  and  very  feeble." 

"He  has  a  cousin,  Madelon,  I  believe,"  Roly 
ventured. 

"Eh?  Then  you  know  her?  A  blessed  angel, 
with  a  face  like  a  picture  and  a  heart  of  pure  gold. 
Hark!"  The  old  lady  listened.  "There  go  the 
clocks  striking  six.  That  means  masks  off  and 
the  end  of  the  carnival.  Too  bad!  Too  bad! 
And  Emile  with  a  flower  over  his  heart." 

Like  one  in  a  dream  Roland  Van  Dam  emerged 
from  the  foreign  quarter  into  the  broad  reaches  of 
Canal  Street.  He  had  been  gone  nearly  three 
hours.  The  pavements  were  strewn  with  confetti 
and  the  litter  of  a  Mardi  Gras  crowd,  but  nowhere 
was  a  masker  to  be  seen.  Directly  ahead  of  him 
loomed  the  Grunewald,  a  splendid  tower  of  white 
brick  and  terra-cotta.  Inside  were  his  friends, 
awaiting  him,  perhaps.  He  realized,  with  a  sink- 
ing sensation,  that  Eleanor  Banniman  was  among 
them  and  that  he  had  asked  her  to  be  his  wife. 
What  a  change  three  hours  had  brought  to  him! 
Why,  in  that  brief  interval  he  had  lived  through  all 
those  very  emotions  the  existence  of  which  they 
had  both  denied  earlier  in  the  day.  Life  had 
opened  for  him,  and  he  had  seen  it  in  the  raw. 
On  his  hands  was  the  blood  of  a  fellow-man;  on 
his  lips  the  fragrance  of  a  kiss  that  set  his  veins 
afire. 

"I  say,  Roly,  where  have  you  been?"  Miss 
63 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

Banniman's  strident  voice  demanded,  as  he  en- 
tered the  cafe. 

"Bless  my  soul!"  exclaimed  her  father,  waving 
his  prospective  son-in-law  to  a  chair  with  a  pudgy 
hand.  ' '  We  thought  you  were  lost  in  the  tall  grass. 
You  missed  tea,  but  you're  in  time  for  a  cocktail. 
Eleanor  is  quite  cranky  if  she  misses  hers." 

"Beastly  stupid  place,  don't  you  think?"  Miss 
Banniman  inquired  of  her  sweetheart. 

"Um-m!  I  haven't  found  it  so,"  Roly  said, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "Fact  is,  I've  been  quite 
entertained." 

"You  have  such  absurd  tastes.  A  dash  of 
absinthe  in  mine,  if  you  please,  waiter.  Papa  has 
ordered  the  car  attached  to  the  evening  train,  and 
we're  dining  aboard.  What  d'you  say  to  Pine- 
hurst  and  a  week  of  golf?" 

Roly  felt  a  sudden  distaste  for  Pinehurst,  for 
golf,  for  all  the  places  and  people  he  had  known. 
"Lovely!"  he  managed  to  say;  then,  summoning 
his  courage:  "I'll  join  you  later,  perhaps.  Sorry 
to  break  up  the  party,  but  I've  a  little  business 
here  that  will  take  a  day  or  so." 

"  Business  ?  You  ?  How  funny  !  "  exclaimed 
Eleanor. 

"Too  bad!"  her  father  said.  "It's  blooming 
hot  here,  and  the  flies  are  awful." 

The  others  joined  in  commiserating  the  young 
man.  When  they  arose  to  go  up-stairs  and  pre- 
pare for  the  train,  Roly  fell  in  behind  them  with 
Miss  Banniman. 

64 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

"See  here,  Eleanor,  are  you  sure  you  love  me?" 
he  asked. 

She  lifted  her  brows  slightly.  "Not  at  all. 
What  put  such  an  idea  into  your  head?  You're 
a  charming  boy,  even  if  you  are  a  bit  romantic. 
But  love — I  thought  we  understood  each  other." 

"I've  been  thinking — something  unusual  for 
me — and  I  don't  believe  we're  either  of  us  quite 
ready  to  take  the  fatal  plunge.  How  does  it 
strike  you?" 

"I'm  in  no  hurry,"  Miss  Banniman  said,  in- 
differently. "Let's  call  it  off  for  the  present. 
We  can  try  it  on  again  in  the  autumn,  if  we  feel 
like  it." 

"Mighty  sensible  of  you,"  Van  Dam  told  her, 
with  relief. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!  Don't  let  this  keep  you 
away  from  Pinehurst,  however.  The  season's 
nearly  over,  and  we'll  need  you  for  a  foursome." 
She  extended  her  hand,  and  Van  Dam  took  it 
gratefully. 

Her  father  called  from  the  elevator:  "See  you 
in  a  few  days,  Roly.  Good  luck  with  your  busi- 
ness, and  don't  take  any  bad  money."  Mr.  Ban- 
niman's  use  of  slang  was  neither  brilliant  nor 
original,  but  he  was  chuckling  as  the  car  shot  up 
out  of  sight. 

Van  Dam  hastened  to  the  desk  and  called  for  a 
city  directory,  then  ran  through  it  to  the  L's. 

"L-a,L-e—"  Ah,  there  it  was !  "  Le  Due,  Felice 
— wid.  res.  247  Boule  St." 

65 


THE    CRIMSON    GARDENIA 

He  made  a  note  of  the  address,  then  settled  his 
hat  upon  his  head,  lit  a  cigarette,  and  walked 
jauntily  out  into  the  evening  and  turned  toward 
Canal  Street.  It  was  growing  cool;  the  street 
lights  were  gleaming;  long  rows  of  them  were 
festooned  for  blocks  in  all  directions,  blazing 
forth  in  fanciful  designs.  In  a  short  time  now 
the  Rex  parade  would  be  under  way,  with  its 
countless  floats  depicting  "The  Age  of  Romance." 

"Romance,  indeed!"  smiled  Mr.  Van  Dam,  con- 
tentedly. Why  this  was  the  age  of  romance. 
Something  recalled  Mr.  Banniman's  parting  words 
to  him — "bad  money!"  The  young  man  paused 
abruptly.  "Bad  money!"  What  a  coincidence! 
He  pictured  a  safe  sunk  into  a  library  wall,  an 
open  cash-drawer  jammed  with  neatly  pinned 
packages  of  crisp,  new  ten-dollar  bank-notes. 
Then  he  recalled  the  story  of  the  garrulous  old 
shop- woman. 

Roly  came  to  himself  with  a  jerk.  He  began  to 
laugh. 

"Good  Lord!"  said  he,  aloud.  "I  wonder  if 
Cousin  Alfred's  money  was  counterfeit!" 

He  was  still  smiling  as  he  bought  a  white 
gardenia  and  placed  it  in  his  buttonhole. 


ROPE'S    END 


ROPE'S    END 


A  ROUND  moon  flooded  the  thickets  with  gold 
**•  and  inky  shadows.  The  night  was  hot,  pois- 
onous with  the  scent  of  blossoms  and  of  rotting 
tropic  vegetation.  It  was  that  breathless,  over- 
powering period  between  the  seasons  when  the 
trades  were  fitful,  before  the  rains  had  come. 
From  the  Caribbean  rose  the  whisper  of  a  dying 
surf,  slower  and  fainter  than  the  respirations  of  a 
sick  man;  in  the  north  the  bearded,  wrinkled 
Haytian  hills  lifted  their  scowling  faces.  They 
were  trackless,  mysterious,  darker  even  than  the 
history  of  the  island. 

Beneath  a  thatched  roof  set  upon  four  posts 
was  a  table,  spread  with  food,  and  on  it  a  candle 
burned  steadily.  No  wind  came  out  of  the  hot 
darkness;  the  flame  rose  straight  and  unwavering. 
Under  a  similar  thatched  shed,  a  short  distance 
away,  a  group  of  soldiers  were  busy  around  a 
smoldering  cook-fire.  There  were  other  huts  inside 
the  jungle  clearing,  through  the  dilapidated  walls 
of  which  issued  rays  of  light  and  men's  voices. 

69 


ROPE'S    END 

Petithomme  Laguerre,  colonel  of  tirailleurs,  in 
the  army  of  the  Republic,  wiped  the  fat  of  a 
roasted  pig  from  his  lips  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 
Using  his  thumb-nail  as  a  knife-blade,  he  loosened 
a  splinter  from  the  edge  of  the  rickety  wooden 
table,  fashioned  it  into  a  toothpick,  then  laid 
himself  back  in  a  grass  hammock.  He  had  ex- 
pected to  find  rum  in  the  house  of  Julien  Rameau, 
but  either  there  had  been  none  or  his  brave  soldiers 
had  happened  upon  it ;  at  any  rate,  supper  had 
been  a  dry  meal — only  one  of  several  disappoint- 
ments of  the  day.  The  sack  of  the  village  had  not 
been  at  all  satisfactory  to  the  colonel;  one  yellow 
woman  dead,  a  few  prisoners,  and  some  smoldering 
ruins — surely  there  was  no  profit  in  such  business. 

Reclining  at  ease,  he  allowed  himself  to  admire 
his  uniform,  a  splendid  creation  of  blue  and  gold 
which  had  put  him  to  much  pains  and  expense. 
It  had  arrived  from  Port  au  Prince  barely  in  time 
to  be  of  service  in  the  campaign.  As  for  the  shoes, 
they  were  not  so  satisfactory.  Shoes  of  any  sort, 
in  fact,  cramped  Colonel  Petithomme  Laguerre's 
feet,  and  were  refinements  of  fashion  to  which  he 
had  never  fully  accustomed  himself.  He  wore 
them  religiously,  in  public,  for  a  colonel  who 
would  be  a  general  must  observe  the  niceties  of 
military  deportment,  even  in  the  Haytian  army, 
but  now  he  kicked  them  off  and  exposed  his 
naked  yellow  soles  gratefully. 

On  three  sides  of  the  clearing  were  thickets 
of  guava  and  coffee  trees,  long  since  gone  wild.  A 

70 


ROPE'S    END 

ruined  wall  along  the  beach  road,  a  pair  of  bleach- 
ing gate-posts,  a  moldering  house  foundation, 
showed  that  this  had  once  been  the  site  of  a 
considerable  estate. 

These  mute  testimonials  to  the  glories  of  the 
French  occupation  are  common  in  Hayti,  but 
since  the  blacks  rose  under  Toussaint  1'Ouverture 
they  have  been  steadily  disappearing;  the  greedy 
fingers  of  the  jungle  have  destroyed  them  bit  by 
bit;  what  were  once  farms  and  gardens  are  now 
thickets  and  groves;  in  place  of  stately  houses 
there  are  now  nothing  but  miserable  hovels. 
Cities  of  brick  and  stone  have  been  replaced  by 
squalid  villages  of  board  and  corrugated  iron, 
peopled  by  a  shrill-voiced,  quarreling  race  over 
which,  in  grim  mockery,  floats  the  banner  of  the 
Black  Republic  inscribed  with  the  motto,  "Lib- 
erty, Equality,  Fraternity." 

Once  Hayti  was  called  the  "Jewel  of  the 
Antilles"  and  boasted  its  "Little  Paris  of  the 
West,"  but  when  the  black  men  rose  to  power  it 
became  a  place  of  evil  reputation,  a  land  behind 
a  veil,  where  all  things  are  possible  and  most 
things  come  to  pass.  In  place  of  monastery 
bells  there  sounds  the  midnight  mutter  of  voodoo 
drums;  the  priest  has  been  succeeded  by  the 
"papaloi,"  the  worship  of  the  Virgin  has  changed 
to  that  of  the  serpent.  Instead  of  the  sacramental 
bread  and  wine  men  drink  the  blood  of  the  white 
cock,  and,  so  it  is  whispered,  eat  the  flesh  of  "the 
goat  without  horns." 


ROPE'S    END 

As  he  picked  his  teeth,  Colonel  Petithomme 
Laguerre  turned  his  eyes  to  the  right,  peering 
idly  into  the  shadows  of  a  tamarind-tree,  the 
branches  of  which  overtopped  the  hut.  Sus- 
pended from  one  of  these  was  an  inert  shape, 
mottled  with  yellow  patches  where  the  moonbeams 
filtered  through  the  leaves.  It  stirred,  swayed, 
turned  slowly,  resolving  itself  into  the  figure  of  an 
old  man.  He  was  hanging  by  the  wrists  to  a  raw- 
hide rope;  his  toes  were  lightly  touching  the  earth. 

"So!  Now  that  Monsieur  Rameau  has  had 
time  to  think,  perhaps  he  will  speak,"  said  the 
colonel. 

A  sigh,  it  was  scarcely  a  groan,  answered. 

"Miser  that  you  are!"  impatiently  exclaimed 
the  colonel.  "Your  money  can  do  you  no  good 
now.  Is  it  not  better  to  part  with  it  easily  than 
to  rot  in  a  government  prison  ?  You  understand, 
the  jails  are  full ;  many  mulattoes  like  you  will  be 
shot  to  make  room." 

"There  is  no — money,"  faintly  came  the  voice  of 
the  prisoner.  "My  neighbors  will  tell  you  that 
I  am  poor." 

Both  men  spoke  in  the  Creole  patois  of  the 
island. 

"Not  much,  perhaps,  but  a  little,  eh?  Just  a 
little,  let  us  say." 

"Why  should  I  lie?    There  is  none." 

"Bah!  It  seems  you  are  stubborn.  Congo, 
bring  the  boy!"  Laguerre  spoke  gruffly. 

A  man  emerged  from  the  shadows  at  the  base 
72 


ROPE'S    END 

of  the  tree  and  slouched  forward.  He  was  a 
negro  soldier,  and,  with  musket  and  machete, 
shuffled  past  the  corner  of  the  hut  in  the  direction 
of  the  other  houses,  pausing  as  the  colonel  said: 

"But  wait!     There  is  a  girl,  too,  I  believe." 

"Yes,  monsieur.     The  wife  of  Floreal." 

"Good!     Bring  them  both." 

Some  moments  later  imploring  voices  rose,  a 
shrill  entreaty  in  a  woman's  tones,  then  Congo  and 
another  tirailleur  appeared ;  driving  ahead  of  them 
a  youth  and  a  girl.  The  prisoners'  arms  were 
bound  behind  them,  and  although  the  girl  was 
weeping,  the  boy  said  little.  He  stepped  forward 
into  the  candle-light  and  stared  defiantly  at  the 
blue-and-gold  officer. 

Floreal  Rameau  was  a  slim  mulatto,  perhaps 
twenty  years  old ;  his  lips  were  thin  and  sensitive, 
his  nose  prominent,  his  eyes  brilliant  and  fearless. 
They  gleamed  now  with  all  the  vindictiveness  of  a 
serpent,  until  that  hanging  figure  in  the  shadows 
just  outside  turned  slowly  and  a  straying  moon- 
beam lit  the  face  of  his  father ;  then  a  new  expres- 
sion leaped  into  them.  Floreal's  chin  fell,  he 
swayed  uncertainly  upon  his  legs. 

"Monsieur — what  is  this?"  he  said,  faintly. 

The  girl  cowered  at  his  back. 

"Your  father  persists  in  lying,"  explained 
Laguerre. 

"What  do  you — wish  him  to  say?" 

"A  little  thing.  His  money  can  be  of  no  further 
use  to  him." 

6  73 


ROPE'S    END 

"Money?"  Floreal  voiced  the  word  vacantly. 
He  turned  to  his  wife,  saying,  "Monsieur  le 
Colonel  asks  for  money.  We  have  none." 

The  girl  nodded,  her  lips  moved,  but  no  sound 
issued;  she  also  was  staring,  horror-stricken,  into 
the  shadows  of  the  tamarind-tree.  Her  arms, 
bound  as  they  were,  threw  the  outlines  of  her  ripe 
young  bosom  into  prominent  relief  and  showed 
her  to  be  round  and  supple;  she  was  lighter  in 
color  even  than  Floreal.  A  little  scar  just  below 
her  left  eye  stood  out,  dull  brown,  upon  her 
yellow  cheek. 

Laguerre  now  saw  her  plainly  for  the  first  time, 
and  shook  off  his  indolence.  He  swung  his  legs 
from  the  hammock  and  sat  up.  Something  in  the 
intensity  of  his  regard  brought  her  gaze  away 
from  the  figure  of  Papa  Rameau.  She  saw  a 
large,  thick-necked,  full-bodied  black,  of  bold  and 
brutal  feature,  whose  determined  eyes  had  become 
bloodshot  from  staring  through  dust  and  sun. 
He  wore  a  mustache,  and  a  little  pointed  woolly 
patch  beneath  his  lower  lip.  Involuntarily  the 
girl  recoiled. 

"Um-m!  So!"  The  barefoot  colonel  rose  and, 
stepping  forward,  took  her  face  in  his  harsh  palm, 
turning  it  up  for  scrutiny.  His  roving  glance  ap- 
praised her  fully.  "Your  name  is — " 

"Pierrine!" 

"To  be  sure.  Well  then,  my  little  Pierrine,  you 
will  tell  me  about  this,  eh?" 

"I  know  nothing,"  she  stammered.  "Floreal 
74 


ROPE'S    END 

speaks  the  truth,  monsieur.  What  does  it  mean 
— all  this  ?  We  are  good  people ;  we  harm  nobody. 
Every  one  here  was  happy  until  the — blacks  rose. 
Then  there  was  fighting  and — this  morning  you 
came.  It  was  terrible!  Mamma  Cleomelie  is 
dead — the  soldiers  shot  her.  Why  do  you  hang 
Papa  Julien?" 

Floreal  broke  in,  hysterically:  "Yes,  monsieur, 
he  is  an  old  man.  Punish  me  if  you  will,  but  my 
father — he  is  old.  See!  He  is  barely  alive.  These 
riches  you  speak  about  are  imaginary.  We  have 
fields,  cattle,  a  schooner ;  take  them  for  the  Repub- 
lic, but,  monsieur,  my  father  has  injured  no  one." 

Petithomme  Laguerre  reseated  himself  in  the 
hammock  and  swung  himself  idly,  his  bare  soles 
scuffing  the  hard  earthen  floor;  he  continued  to 
eye  Pierrine. 

Now  that  young  Rameau  had  brought  himself  to 
beg,  he  fell  to  his  knees  and  went  on:  "I  swear  to 
you  that  we  are  not  traitors.  Never  have  we 
spoken  against  the  government.  We  are  'colored,' 
yes,  but  the  black  people  love  us.  They  loved 
Cleomelie,  my  mother,  whom  the  soldiers  shot. 
That  was  murder.  Monsieur — she  would  have 
harmed  nobody.  She  was  only  frightened."  The 
suppliant's  shoulders  were  heaving,  his  voice  was 
choked  by  emotion.  "She  is  unburied.  I  appeal 
to  your  kind  heart  to  let  us  go  and  bury  her.  We 
will  be  your  servants  for  life.  You  wish  money. 
Good!  We  will  find  it  for  you.  I  will  work,  I 
will  steal,  I  will  kill  for  this  money  you  wish — I 

75 


ROPE'S    END 

swear  it.     But  old  Julien,  he  is  dying  there  on  the 
rope — " 

Floreal  raised  his  tortured  eyes  to  the  black  face 
above  him,  then  his  babbling  tongue  fell  silent  and 
he  rose,  interposing  his  body  between  Pierrine  and 
the  colonel.  It  was  evident  that  the  latter  had 
heard  nothing  whatever  of  the  appeal,  for  he  was 
still  staring  at  the  girl. 

Floreal  strained  until  the  rawhide  thongs  cut 
into  his  wrists,  his  bare,  yellow  toes  gripping  the 
hard  earth  like  the  claws  of  a  cat  until  he  seemed 
about  to  spring.  Once  he  turned  his  head, 
curiously,  fearfully,  toward  his  young  wife,  then 
his  blazing  glance  swung  back  to  his  captor. 

The  silence  roused  Laguerre  finally,  and  he  rose. 
"Speak  the  truth,"  he  commanded,  roughly, 
"otherwise  you  shall  see  your  father  dance  a 
bamboula  while  my  soldiers  drum  on  his  ribs  with 
the  cocomacaque." 

"He  is  feeble;  his  bones  are  brittle,"  said  the 
son,  thickly. 

"As  for  you,  my  little  Pierrine,  you  will  come  to 
my  house;  then,  if  these  wicked  men  refuse  to 
speak,  perhaps  you  and  I  will  reach  an  under- 
standing." Laguerre  grinned  evilly. 

"Monsieur — !"  With  a  furious  curse  Floreal 
flung  himself  in  the  path  of  the  black  man;  the 
wife  retreated  in  speechless  dismay. 

Petithomme  thrust  young  Rameau  aside,  crying, 
angrily:  "You  wish  to  live,  eh?  Well,  then,  the 
truth.  Otherwise— 

76 


ROPE'S    END 

"But — she?  Pierrine?"  panted  Floreal,  with  a 
twist  of  his  head  in  her  direction. 

"I  may  allow  her  to  go  free.  Who  can  tell?" 
He  led  the  girl  out  across  the  moonlit  clearing  and 
to  the  largest  house  in  the  group.  He  reappeared, 
making  the  door  fast  behind  him,  and  returned, 
stretching  himself  in  the  hammock  once  more. 

"  Now,  Congo,"  he  ordered,  "  let  us  see  who 
will  speak  first."  Taking  a  pipe  from  his  pocket, 
he  filled  it  with  the  rank  native  tobacco  and  lighted 
it.  The  tirailleur  he  had  addressed  selected  a  four- 
foot  club  of  the  jointed  cocomacaque  wood,  such 
as  is  used  by  the  local  police,  and  with  it  smote  the 
suspended  figure  heavily.  Old  Julien  groaned,  his 
son  cried  out.  The  brutality  proceeded  with  de- 
liberation, the  body  of  old  Julien  swung  drunk- 
enly,  spinning,  swaying,  writhing  in  the  moon- 
light. 

Floreal  shrank  away.  Retreating  until  his  back 
was  against  the  table,  he  clutched  its  edge  with 
his  numb  fingers  for  support.  He  was  young,  he 
had  seen  little  of  the  ferocious  cruelty  which 
characterized  his  countrymen;  this  was  the  first 
uprising  against  his  color  that  he  had  witnessed. 
Every  blow,  which  seemed  directed  at  his  own 
body,  made  him  suffer  until  he  became  almost  as 
senseless  as  the  figure  of  his  father. 

His  groping  fingers  finally  touched  the  candle  at 
his  back;  it  was  burning  low,  and  the  blaze  bit 
at  them.  With  the  pain  there  came  a  thought, 
wild,  fantastic;  he  shifted  his  position  slightly 

77 


ROPE'S    END 

until  the  flame  licked  at  his  bonds.  Colonel 
Laguerre  was  in  the  shadow  now,  watching  the 
torture  with  approval.  Maximilien,  the  other 
soldier,  rested  unmoved  upon  his  rifle.  Floreal 
leaned  backward,  and  shut  his  teeth;  an  agony 
ran  through  his  veins.  The  odor  of  burning  flesh 
rose  faintly  to  his  nostrils. 

"Softly,  Congo,"  directed  the  colonel,  after  a 
time.  ' ' Let  him  rest  for  a  moment."  Turning  to 
the  son  he  inquired,  "Will  you  see  him  die  rather 
than  speak?" 

Floreal  nodded  silently;  his  face  was  distorted 
and  wet  with  sweat. 

Laguerre  rose  with  a  curse.  "Little  pig!  I 
will  make  your  tongue  wag  if  I  have  to  place  you 
between  planks  and  saw  you  in  twain.  But  you 
shall  have  time  to  think.  Maximilien  will  guard 
you,  and  in  the  morning  you  will  guide  me  to  the 
hiding-place.  Meanwhile  we  will  let  the  old  man 
hang.  I  have  an  appetite  for  pleasanter  things 
than  this."  He  turned  toward  the  house  in  which 
Pierrine  was  hidden,  whereat  Floreal  strained  at 
his  bonds,  calling  after  him: 

"Laguerre!  She  is  my  wife — by  the  Church! 
My  wife." 

Petithomme  opened  the  door  silently  and  dis- 
appeared. 

"  Humph!  The  colonel  amuses  himself  while 
I  tickle  the  sides  of  this  yellow  man,"  said  Congo 
in  some  envy. 

"I  don't  believe  there  is  any  money,"  Maxi- 
78 


ROPE'S    END 

milien  observed.  "What?  Am  I  right?"  He 
turned  inquiringly  to  Floreal,  but  the  latter  had 
regained  his  former  position,  and  the  candle-flame 
was  licking  at  his  wrists.  "To  be  sure!  This  is  a 
waste  of  time.  Make  an  end  of  the  old  man, 
Congo,  and  I  will  take  the  boy  back  to  his  prison. 
It  is  late  and  I  am  sleepy." 

The  speaker  approached  his  captive,  his 
musket  resting  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm,  his 
machete  hanging  at  his  side.  "So,  now!  Don't 
strain  so  bitterly,"  he  laughed.  "I  tied  those 
knots  and  they  will  not  slip,  for  I  have  tied  too 
many  yellow  men.  To-morrow  you  will  be  shot, 
monsieur,  and  Pierrine  will  be  a  widow,  so  why 
curse  the  colonel  if  he  cheats  you  by  a  few  hours?" 

Congo  was  examining  his  victim,  and  uttered 
an  exclamation,  at  which  Maximilien  paused,  with 
a  hand  upon  Floreal's  shoulder. 

"Is  he  dead?" 

"The  club  was  heavier  than  I  thought,"  an- 
swered Congo. 

"He  brought  it  upon  himself.  Well,  the  prison 
at  Jacmel  is  full  of  colored  people;  this  will  leave 
room  for  one  more — " 

Maximilien's  words  suddenly  failed  him,  his 
thoughts  were  abruptly  halted,  for  he  found  that 
in  some  unaccountable  manner  young  Rameau's 
hands  had  become  free  and  that  the  machete  at 
his  own  side  was  slipping  from  its  sheath.  The 
phenomenon  was  unbelievable,  it  paralyzed  Maxi- 
milien's intellect  during  that  momentary  pause 

79 


ROPE'S    END 

which  is  required  to  reconcile  the  inconceivable 
with  the  imminent.  It  is  doubtful  if  the  trooper 
fully  realized  what  had  befallen  or  that  any  danger 
threatened,  for  his  mind  was  sluggish,  and  under 
Rameau's  swift  hands  his  soul  had  begun  to  tug 
at  his  body  before  his  astonishment  had  disap- 
peared. The  blade  rasped  out  of  its  scabbard, 
whistled  through  its  course,  and  Maximilien 
lurched  forward  to  his  knees. 

The  sound  of  the  blow,  like  that  of  an  ax  sunk 
into  a  rotten  tree-trunk,  surprised  Congo.  A 
shout  burst  from  him;  he  raised  the  stout  cudgel 
above  his  head,  for  Floreal  was  upon  him  like  the 
blurred  image  out  of  a  nightmare.  The  trooper 
shrieked  affrightedly  as  the  blade  sheared  through 
his  shield  and  bit  at  his  arm.  He  turned  to  flee, 
but  his  head  was  round  and  bare,  and  it  danced 
before  the  oncoming  Floreal.  Rameau  cleft  it, 
as  he  had  learned  to  open  a  green  cocoanut,  with 
one  stroke.  On  the  hard  earth,  Maximilien  was 
scratching  and  kicking  as  if  to  drag  himself  out  of 
the  welter  in  which  he  lay. 

Floreal  cut  down  his  father  and  received  the 
limp  figure  in  his  arms.  As  he  straightened  it 
he  heard  a  furious  commotion  from  the  camp- 
fire  where  the  other  tirailleurs  were  squatted. 
From  the  tail  of  his  eye  he  saw  that  they  were 
reaching  for  their  weapons.  He  heard  Laguerre 
shouting  in  the  hut,  then  the  crash  of  something 
overturned.  As  he  rose  from  his  father's  body 
he  heard  a  shot  and  saw  the  soldiers  of  the  Repub- 

80 


As  Floreal  rose  from  his  father's  body  he  heard  a  shot 
and  saw  the  soldiers  of  the  Republic  charging  him. 


ROPE'S    END 

lie  charging  him.  They  were  between  him  and 
Pierrine.  He  hesitated,  then  slipped  back  into 
the  shadow  of  the  tamarind-tree,  and  out  at  the 
other  side;  his  cotton  garments  flickered  briefly 
through  the  moonlight,  then  the  thicket  swallowed 
him.  His  pursuers  paused  and  emptied  their  guns 
blindly  into  the  ink-black  shadows  where  he  had 
disappeared. 

When  Colonel  Laguerre  arrived  upon  the  scene 
they  were  still  loading  and  firing  without  aim,  and 
he  had  some  difficulty  in  restoring  them  to  order. 
Blood  they  were  accustomed  to,  but  blood  of  their 
own  letting.  This  was  very  different.  This  was  a 
blow  at  the  government,  at  their  own  established 
authority.  Such  an  appalling  loss  of  life  seldom 
occurred  to  regular  troops  of  the  Republic;  it  was 
worse  than  a  pitched  battle  with  the  Dominicans, 
and  it  excited  the  troopers  terribly. 

Perhaps  he  had  been  mistaken  and  there  was  no 
money,  thought  the  colonel,  as  he  returned  to  his 
quarters  after  a  time.  Of  course  the  girl  still 
remained,  and  he  could  soon  force  the  truth  from 
her,  but  she  was  the  only  source  of  information 
left  now  that  Floreal  had  escaped,  for  Laguerre 
had  noted  carelessly  that  the  body  of  Julien  had 
hung  too  long.  It  was  annoying  to  be  deceived 
in  this  way,  but  perhaps  the  day  had  not  been 
without  some  profit,  after  all,  he  mused. 

The  road  to  the  Dominican  frontier  was  rough 
and  wild.  All  Hayti  was  aflame;  every  village 
was  peopled  by  raging  blacks  who  had  risen  against 

81 


ROPE'S    END 

their  lighter-hued  brethren.  Among  the  fugitives 
who  slunk  along  the  winding  bridle-paths  that 
once  had  been  roads  there  was  a  mulatto  youth  of 
scarcely  twenty,  who  carried  a  machete  beneath  his 
arm.  In  his  eyes  there  was  a  lurking  horror;  his 
wrists  were  bound  with  rags  torn  from  his  cotton 
shirt;  he  spoke  but  seldom,  and  when  he  did  it 
was  to  curse  the  name  of  Petithomme  Laguerre. 


II 

FLOREAL  took  up  his  residence  across  the  bor- 
der. The  countries  had  long  been  at  war,  so  he 
found  reason  to  change  his  name.  He  likewise 
changed  his  language,  although  that  was  not  so 
easily  accomplished,  and  then,  since  he  had  been 
born  of  the  sea,  he  returned  to  it.  But  he  could 
not  bring  himself  to  utterly  forsake  the  island  of 
his  birth,  for  twice  a  year,  when  the  seasons 
changed,  when  the  trades  died  and  the  hot  lands 
sent  their  odors  reeking  through  the  night,  he  felt 
a  hungry  yearning  for  Hayti.  During  these 
periods  of  lifeless  heat  his  impulses  ran  wild;  at 
these  times  his  habits  changed  and  he  became 
violent,  nocturnal.  As  he  thought  of  Petithomme 
Laguerre  he  bit  his  wrists  in  an  agony  of  recollec- 
tion. Women  shunned  him,  men  said  to  one  an- 
other : 

"This  Inocencio  is  a  person  of  uncertain 
temper.  He  has  a  bad  eye." 

82 


ROPE'S    END 

"Whence  did  he  come?"  others  inquired.  "He 
is  not  one  of  us." 

"From  Jamaica,  or  the  Barbadoes,  perhaps. 
He  has  much  evil  in  him." 

"And  yet  he  makes  no  enemies." 

"Nor  friends." 

"Um-m!  A  peculiar  fellow.  A  man  of  passion 
— one  can  see  it  in  his  face." 

Hayti  had  become  quiet  once  more — as  quiet  as 
could  be  expected — and  the  former  colonel  of 
tirailleurs  had  prospered.  He  was  now  "General 
Petithomme  Laguerre,  Commandant  of  the  Ar- 
rondissement  of  the  South,"  and  the  echo  of  his 
name  crept  eastward  along  the  coast,  even  to 
Azua. 

The  bitterness  of  this  news  finally  sent  Inocencio 
seaward  in  a  barkentine,  the  business  of  which  was 
not  above  suspicion.  He  cruised  through  the 
Virgin  Islands,  on  around  the  Leewards  and  the 
Windwards,  seeing  something  of  the  world  and 
tasting  of  its  wickedness.  A  year  later,  at  Trini- 
dad, he  fell  in  with  a  Portuguese  half-breed,  cap- 
tain of  a  schooner  bound  on  hazardous  business, 
and,  inasmuch  as  high  wages  were  promised,  he 
shipped.  Followed  adventures  of  many  sorts, 
during  which  Inocencio  became  a  mate,  but  made 
no  friends. 

One  night  when  the  moon  was  full  and  the 
schooner  lay  becalmed  there  was  drinking  and 
gambling  in  the  little  cabin.  It  was  the  change  of 
the  seasons,  before  the  rains  had  come ;  the  air  was 

83 


ROPE'S    END 

close;  the  ship  reeked  with  odors.  Inocencio 
played  like  a  demon,  for  his  heart  was  fierce,  and 
the  cards  befriended  him.  All  night  he  and  the 
Portuguese  half-breed  shuffled  and  dealt,  drank 
rum,  and  cursed  each  other.  When  daylight  came 
the  schooner  had  changed  hands. 

Colon  sits  on  the  southern  shore  of  the  Carib- 
bean, and  through  it  drifts  a  current  of  traffic 
from  many  seas.  It  is  like  the  riffle  of  a  sluice  or 
the  catch-basin  of  a  sewer,  gathering  all  the  sedi- 
ment carried  by  the  stream,  and  thither  Captain 
Inocencio  headed,  drawn  on  the  tide.  It  was  at 
the  time  of  the  French  fiasco,  when  De  Lesseps's 
name  was  powerful,  and  when  Colon  was  the 
wickedest,  sickest  city  of  the  Western  Hemisphere. 

Into  the  harbor  came  Inocencio's  schooner, 
pelting  ahead  of  the  stiff  trade-winds  that  blew 
like  the  draught  from  an  electric  fan,  and  there  the 
Haytian  stayed,  for  in  Colon  he  found  work  that 
suited  him.  There  he  heard  the  echo  of  tremen- 
dous undertakings;  there  he  learned  new  rascali- 
ties, and  met  men  from  other  lands  who  were 
homeless,  like  himself;  there  he  tasted  of  the 
white  man's  wickedness,  and  beheld  forms  of  cor- 
ruption that  were  strange  to  him.  The  nights 
were  ribald  and  the  days  were  drear,  for  fever 
stalked  the  streets,  but  Inocencio  was  immune, 
and  for  the  first  time  he  enjoyed  himself. 

But  he  was  solitary  in  his  habits;  the  festering 
town,  with  its  green-slimed  sewers  and  its  filthy 

84 


ROPE'S    END 

streets,  did  not  appeal  to  him,  so  he  took  up  his 
abode  on  the  shore  of  a  little  bay  close  behind, 
where  a  grove  of  palm-trees  overhung  a  sandy 
beach.  Just  across  a  mangrove  swamp  at  his 
back  was  the  city;  before  him  lay  his  schooner, 
her  bowsprit  pointing  seaward.  Day  and  night  it 
pointed  seaward,  like  a  resolute  ringer;  pointed 
toward  Hayti  and — Pierrine. 

In  time  the  mulatto  acquired  a  reputation  and 
gathered  a  crew  of  ruffians  over  whom  he  tyran- 
nized. There  were  women  in  his  camp,  too, 
'Bajans,  Sant'  Lucians,  and  wenches  from  the 
other  isles,  but  neither  they  nor  their  powdered 
sisters  along  the  back  streets  of  Colon  appealed  to 
Inocencio  very  long,  for  sooner  or  later  there 
always  came  to  him  the  memory  of  a  yellow  girl 
with  a  scar  beneath  her  eye,  and  thoughts  of  her 
brought  pictures  of  a  blue-and-gold  negro  colonel 
and  an  old  man  hanging  by  the  wrists.  Then  it 
was  that  he  felt  a  slow  flame  licking  at  his  tendons, 
and  his  hatred  blazed  up  so  suddenly  that  the 
women  fled  from  him,  bearing  marks  of  his  fingers 
on  their  flesh. 

Sometimes  he  sailed  away  and  was  gone  for 
weeks.  When  he  returned  his  crew  told  stories  of 
aimless  visits  to  the  Haytian  coast  in  which  there 
appeared  to  be  neither  reason  nor  profit,  since  they 
neither  took  nor  fetched  a  cargo.  These  journeys 
came  at  regular  intervals,  as  if  there  arrived  upon 
the  hurrying  trades  a  call  that  took  him  north- 
ward, just  before  the  seasons  changed. 

85 


ROPE'S   END 

His  helpers  retailed  other  gossip  also,  rumors  of 
a  coming  revolution  in  the  Republic,  tales  of  the 
great  general,  Petithomme  Laguerre,  who  had 
aims  upon  the  Presidency.  Inocencio's  ears  were 
open,  and  what  he  heard  stirred  his  rage,  but  he 
was  not  a  brilliant  man,  and  his  brain,  unused  to 
strategy,  refused  to  counsel  him.  For  five  years 
he  had  studied  the  matter  incessantly,  nursing  his 
hate  and  searching  for  a  means  to  satisfy  it. 
Then,  as  if  born  of  the  lightning,  he  saw  his 
way. 

He  consulted  a  French  clerk  in  the  Canal  offices, 
and  between  them  they  contrived  a  letter  which 
ran  as  follows: 

To  His  Excellency,  General  Petithomme  Laguerre,  Com- 
mandant of  the  Arrondissement  of  the  South,  Jacmel, 
Republic  of  Hayti. 

GENERAL, — The  bearer,  Inocencio  Ruiz,  of  Cartagena, 
master  of  the  schooner  Stella,  will  consult  you  upon  a  matter 
of  extreme  delicacy  which  concerns  the  sale  of  two  hundred 
rifles.  These  arms,  of  latest  model,  were  consigned  to  this 
port,  but  under  the  existing  relations  of  amity  between  the 
French  and  Colombian  governments  they  cannot  be  used. 
Knowing  your  patriotism  and  the  zeal  with  which  you  safe- 
guard the  welfare  of  your  country,  the  writer  makes  bold  to 
offer  these  arms  to  you,  as  agent  of  the  Haytian  government, 
at  a  low  figure.  Captain  Ruiz,  a  man  of  discretion,  is  em- 
powered to  discuss  the  matter  with  you  at  greater  length. 

In  full  appreciation  of  your  supreme  qualities  as  a  soldier 
and  statesman,  it  is  with  admiration  that  I  salute  you. 
Respectfully, 

ANTOINE  LEBLANC. 
86 


ROPE'S    END 

When  the  letter  was  finally  read  to  Inocencio  he 
nodded;  but  the  French  clerk  said,  doubtfully: 

"This  Laguerre  is  a  man  of  force,  I  believe.  I 
should  not  care  to  trifle  with  him  in  this  way." 

"I,  too,  am  a  man  of  force."  said  the  mulatto. 

"He  is  your  enemy?" 

"To  the  death." 

The  white  man  shook  his  head.  ' '  Danger  lurks 
along  the  Haytian  coast;  many  things  happen 
there,  for  the  people  are  barbarians.  I  should 
prefer  to  forgive  this  Petithomme  rather  than  op- 
pose him,  even  though  he  were  my  enemy." 

Inocencio  scowled.  "When  I  die  I  shall  have 
no  enemies  to  forgive,  for  I  shall  have  killed  them 
all,"  he  said,  simply. 

Jacmel  lay  white  in  the  blazing  sun  as  the 
Stella  dropped  anchor.  The  trades  were  failing, 
and  the  schooner  drifted  slowly  under  a  full  spread 
of  canvas.  Near  where  she  came  to  rest  lay  a 
Haytian  gunboat,  ill-painted,  ill-manned,  ill-dis- 
ciplined, and  Inocencio  regarded  her  with  some 
concern,  for  her  presence  was  a  thing  he  had  not 
counted  upon.  It  argued  either  that  Laguerre  had 
won  the  support  of  her  commander  or  that  she 
had  been  sent  by  the  government  as  a  check  upon 
his  activities.  In  either  event  she  was  a  menace. 

A  band  was  playing  in  the  square,  and  there 
were  many  soldiers.  Inocencio  did  not  go 
ashore.  Instead  he  sent  the  letter  by  a  member 
of  his  crew,  a  giant  'Bajan  whom  he  trusted,  and 

87 


ROPE'S    END 

with  it  he  sent  word  that  he  hoped  to  meet  His 
Excellency,  General  Laguerre,  that  evening  at  a 
certain  drinking-place  near  the  water-front. 

The  sailor  returned  at  dusk  with  news  that  set 
his  captain's  eyes  aglow.  Jacmel  was  alive  with 
troops;  there  had  been  a  review  that  very  after- 
noon and  the  populace  had  hailed  the  commandant 
as  President.  On  all  sides  there  was  talk  of  revolu- 
tion; the  whole  south  country  had  enrolled  be- 
neath the  banner  of  revolt.  The  gunboat  was 
Laguerre's;  all  Hayti  craved  a  change;  the  old 
familiar  race  cry  had  been  raised  and  the  mulat- 
toes  were  in  terror  of  another  massacre.  But  the 
regular  troops  were  badly  armed  and  the  perusal 
of  Inocencio's  letter  had  filled  the  general  with  joy. 

Captain  Ruiz  was  early  at  the  meeting-place, 
but  he  waited  patiently,  drinking  rum  and  listen- 
ing to  the  chatter  of  the  street.  His  Spanish  ac- 
cent, his  identity  as  the  master  of  the  schooner  in 
the  offing,  and,  above  all,  his  threatening  eyes,  won 
him  a  tolerance  which  the  warlike  blacks  did  not 
accord  to  Haytians  of  his  color;  therefore  he  was 
not  molested.  He  soon  confirmed  his  sailor's 
story;  revolution  was  indeed  in  the  air;  the 
country  was  seething  with  unrest.  Many  houses 
already  had  been  burned — sure  token  of  an  up- 
rising. The  soldiers  had  had  a  taste  of  pillage 
and  persecution.  The  streets  were  thronged  with 
them  now;  merchants  were  on  guard  before  their 
shops ;  from  every  side  came  the  sounds  of  revelry 
and  quarreling. 

88 


ROPE'S    END 

Laguerre  arrived,  finally,  a  huge,  forbidding 
man  of  martial  bearing,  and  he  was  heralded  by 
cheers.  He  was  much  older  and  infinitely  prouder 
than  when  Inocencio  had  seen  him.  His  uniform 
had  been  blue  at  that  time,  but  now  it  was  parrot- 
green;  his  epaulettes  were  broader,  the  golden 
braid  and  dangling  loops  were  heavier,  and  he  was 
fat  from  easy  living.  With  age  and  power  he  had 
coarsened,  but  his  eyes  were  still  bloodshot  and 
domineering. 

"Captain  Ruiz?"  he  inquired,  pausing  before  the 
yellow  man. 

"Your  Excellency!"  Inocencio  rose  and  sa- 
luted. The  seaman's  eyes  were  smoldering,  but 
his  lips  were  cold,  for  he  felt  the  dread  of  recogni- 
tion. 

Time,  it  seemed,  had  dulled  the  sharp  outlines  of 
Laguerre's  memory  as  it  had  changed  the  younger 
man's  features,  for  he  continued,  unsuspectingly: 

"You  are  the  agent  of  Monsieur  Leblanc,  I 
believe." 

"The  same." 

"Good!  Now  these  rifles — you  have  them  near 
by?" 

"Within  gunshot,  Excellency.  They  are  in  the 
harbor  at  this  moment." 

Laguerre's  face  lighted.  "Ha!  A  man  of  busi- 
ness, this  Leblanc.  You  will  fix  the  price,  as  I 
understand  it." 

There  followed  a  certain  amount  of  bickering, 
during  which  the  general  allowed  himself  to  be 
7  89 


ROPE'S    END 

worsted.  He  agreed  weakly  to  Inocencio's  terms, 
having  already  decided  to  appropriate  the  God- 
sent  cargo  without  payment.  The  latter  had 
counted  upon  this,  and,  moreover,  he  had  right- 
fully construed  the  light  in  those  bloodshot  eyes. 

"Monsieur  le  G6neral  must  see  these  rifles  for 
himself,  to  appreciate  them,  and  he  must  count 
them,  too,  else  how  can  he  know  that  I  am  not 
deceiving  him?  We  must  observe  caution,  for 
there  may  be  spies — "  Inocencio  spoke  craftily. 

"Pah!    Spies?     In  Jacmel?" 

"Nevertheless,  there  is  a  gunboat  in  the  harbor 
and  she  flies  the  flag  of  the  Republic.  My  skiff 
is  waiting;  we  will  slip  out  and  back  again — in  an 
hour  the  inspection  will  be  completed.  You  must 
see  those  rifles  with  your  own  eyes,  Excellency. 
They  are  wonderful — the  equal  of  any  in  the  world; 
no  troops  can  stand  before  them.  They  are 
magnificent." 

"Come!"  said  Laguerre,  rising. 

"But  alone!"  Inocencio  displayed  a  worthy 
circumspection.  "This  is  hazardous  business. 
That  war-ship  with  the  flag  of  the  Republic — my 
employer  is  a  man  of  reputation." 

"Very  well."  Laguerre  dismissed  an  aide  who 
had  remained  at  a  distance  during  the  interview, 
and  together  the  two  set  out. 

"You  arrived  barely  in  time,  for  we  march  to- 
morrow," said  the  general;  "at  least  we  march 
within  the  week.  My  defiance  has  gone  forth. 
My  country  cries  for  her  defender.  There  will  be 

90 


ROPE'S    END 

bloody  doings,  for  I  tell  you  the  temper  of  the 
people  is  roused  and  they  have  no  stomach  for 
that  tyrant  at  Port  au  Prince." 

"Bloody  doings!"  Inocencio  smiled  admiringly 
upon  his  companion.  "And  who  could  cope  with 
them  better  than  yourself?  You  have  a  reputa- 
tion, Excellency.  The  name  of  Petithomme  La- 
guerre  is  known,  even  in  my  country." 

"  Indeed!  "     The  black  general's  chest  swelled. 

"We  have  heroes  of  our  own — men  who  have 
bathed  in  blood  defending  our  rights-^but  our 
soldiers  are  only  soldiers,  they  are  not  statesmen. 
We  are  not  so  fortunate  as  Hayti.  We  would 
welcome,  we  would  idolize  such  a  one.  Would  that 
we  had  him;  would  that  we  boasted  a — Petit- 
homme Laguerre." 

The  hearer  was  immensely  gratified  at  this 
flattery  and  he  straightened  himself  pompously, 
saying: 

"But  we  are  favored  by  God,  we  Haytians,  and 
we  have  bred  a  race  of  giants.  We  have  gained 
our  proud  position  among  the  nations  at  the  price 
of  blood.  Believe  me,  we  are  not  ordinary  men. 
Our  soldiers  are  braver  than  lions,  our  armies  are 
the  admiration  of  the  world,  we  have  reached  that 
level  for  which  God  created  us.  It  requires 
strong  hands  to  guide  such  a  people.  My  country 
calls.  I  am  her  servant." 

The  moon  was  round  and  brilliant  as  they 
walked  out  upon  the  rotting  wharf — all  wharves 
in  Hayti  are  decayed — the  night  had  grown  still, 


ROPE'S    END 

and  through  it  came  the  gentle  whisper  of  the 
tide,  mingled  with  the  babel  from  the  town.  Land 
odors  combined  with  the  pungent  stench  of  the 
harbor  in  a  scent  which  caused  Inocencio's  nos- 
trils to  quiver  and  memory  to  gnaw  at  him.  He 
cast  a  worried  look  skyward,  and  in  his  ungodly 
soul  prayed  for  wind,  for  a  breeze,  for  a  gentle 
zephyr  which  would  put  his  vengeance  in  his  hands. 

He  had  dropped  anchor  well  offshore,  hence  the 
row  was  long,  but  as  they  neared  the  Stella  a 
breath  came  out  of  the  open.  It  was  hot,  stifling, 
as  if  a  furnace  door  had  opened,  and  the  yellow 
man  smiled  grimly  into  the  night. 

The  crew  were  sleeping  on  the  deck  as  the  two 
came  overside,  but  at  sight  of  that  glittering  ap- 
parition of  green  and  gold  they  rubbed  their  eyes 
open  and  stared  in  speechless  amazement.  They 
were  reckless  fellows,  fit  for  any  enterprise,  but 
Inocencio  had  learned  to  keep  a  silent  tongue,  so 
they  knew  nothing  of  his  present  plans.  They 
heard  him  saying : 

"Into  the  cabin,  Monsieur  le  General,  if  you 
will  be  so  good.  It  is  dark,  yes,  but  there  will  be 
a  light  presently,  and  then — a  sight  for  any 
soldier's  eyes!  Something  that  will  gladden  the 
heart  of  any  patriot!"  They  went  below,  leaving 
the  sailors  open-mouthed.  "A  miserable  place, 
Excellency,"  came  the  soft  voice,  "but  the  Cause! 
For  Hayti  one  would  suffer —  A  match,  if  you 
will  be  so  kind.  The  lamp  is  at  your  hand."  The 
skylight  glowed  a  faint  yellow,  then  was  brightly 

92 


ROPE'S    END 

illuminated.  "For  Hayti  one  would  endure — 
much." 

There  followed  the  sound  of  a  blow,  of  a  heavy 
fall,  then  a  loud,  ferocious  cry,  and  a  subdued 
scuffling,  during  which  the  crew  stared  at  one  an- 
other. The  giant  'Bajan  crept  forward  finally  and 
was  met  by  Inocencio,  emerging  from  the  cabin. 
The  captain  was  smiling,  and  he  carefully  closed 
the  hatch  before  he  gave  orders  to  make  sail. 

The  breeze  was  faint,  so  the  schooner  gathered 
headway  slowly,  but  as  the  lights  of  Jacmel  and 
of  the  anchored  gunboat  faded  out  astern  Inocen- 
cio sat  upon  the  deck-house  and  drummed  with 
his  naked  heels  upon  the  cabin  wall.  He  lit  one 
cigarette  after  another,  and  the  helmsman  saw 
that  he  was  laughing  silently. 

Dawn  broke  in  an  explosion  of  many  colors. 
The  sun  rushed  up  out  of  the  sea  as  if  pursued; 
night  fled,  and  in  its  place  was  a  blistering  day, 
full  grown.  The  breeze  had  died,  however,  and  the 
Stella  wallowed  in  a  glassy  calm,  her  sails  slatting, 
her  booms  creaking,  her  gear  complaining  to  the 
drunken  roll.  The  slow  swells  heeled  her  first 
to  one  side,  then  to  the  other,  the  decks  grew 
burning  hot;  no  faintest  ripple  stirred  the  undulat- 
ing surface  of  the  Caribbean.  Afar,  the  Haytian 
hills  wavered  and  danced  through  a  veil  of  heat. 
The  slender  topmast  described  long  measured  arcs 
across  the  sky,  like  a  schoolmaster's  pointer;  from 
its  peak  the  halyards  whipped  and  bellied. 

93 


ROPE'S    END 

"Captain!"  The  'Bajan  waited  for  recognition. 
"Captain!"  Inocencio  looked  up  finally.  "There 
— toward  Jacmel — there  is  smoke.  See!  We  have 
been  watching  it." 

The  mulatto  nodded. 

"The  smoke  of  a  ship." 

"Ah!  A  ship!"  Inocencio  smiled  and  the  negro 
recoiled  suddenly.  All  night  long  the  master  of 
the  Stella  had  sat  upon  the  deck-house,  staring  at 
the  sea  and  smoking.  At  times  he  had  laughed 
and  whispered  to  some  one  whom  the  helmsman 
could  not  see,  but  this  was  the  first  time  he  had 
smiled  at  any  member  of  his  crew.  In  fact,  it  was 
the  first  time  the  sailor  had  ever  seen  him  smile. 
The  'Bajan  withdrew  and  went  forward  to  consult 
with  his  fellows.  They  eyed  their  employer  curi- 
ously, fearfully,  for  much  had  happened  to  alarm 
them,  not  the  least  of  which  had  been  a  furious  com- 
motion from  below.  Frightful  curses  had  issued 
from  the  cabin,  threats  which  had  caused  their 
limbs  to  tremble,  but  they  had  affected  the  cap- 
tain like  soothing  music.  It  was  very  strange.  It 
caused  the  sailors  to  look  with  concern  upon  that 
thin,  low  streamer  in  the  distance;  it  led  them  to 
go  aft  in  a  body  finally  and  speak  their  minds. 

"The  smoke  is  growing  larger,"  they  declared, 
and  Inocencio  roused  himself  sufficiently  to  look. 
"  It  is  the  war-ship.  We  are  pursued.  Who  is  this 
big  man  below?" 

"He  is  a — friend  of  mine,  Petithomme  La- 
guerre — " 

94 


ROPE'S    END 

"Laguerre!" 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  exclaimed  the  'Bajan, 
breathlessly. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  one  of  them  inquired  in 
a  panic.  "That  smoke!  The  wind  has  forsaken 
us."  He  shuffled  his  bare  feet  uncomfortably. 
"We  will  be  shot  for  this." 

Inocencio  tossed  away  his  cigarette  and  rose; 
he  lifted  his  eyes  aloft.  The  slim  topmast  ar- 
rested his  attention  as  it  swept  across  the  sky, 
and  he  watched  it  for  a  moment;  then  to  the  giant 
sailor  he  said :  ' '  You  will  find  a  new  rope  forward. 
Make  it  fast  to  the  end  of  this  halyard  and  run  it 
through  yonder  block."  He  slid  back  the  hatch 
and  descended  leisurely  into  the  cabin. 

Laguerre  was  sitting  in  a  chair  with  his  arms 
and  legs  securely  bound,  but  he  had  succeeded  in 
working  considerable  havoc  with  the  furnishings 
of  the  place  as  well  as  with  his  splendid  uniform. 
His  lips  foamed,  his  eyes  protruded  at  sight  of  his 
captor;  a  trickle  of  blood  from  his  scalp  lent 
him  a  ferocious  appearance. 

Inocencio  seated  himself,  and  the  two  men  stared 
at  each  other  across  the  bare  table. 

Laguerre  spoke  first,  his  tongue  thick,  his  voice 
hoarse  from  yelling.  Inocencio  listened  with 
fixed,  unwavering  gaze. 

"You  tricked  me  neatly,"  the  former  raved. 
"You  are  a  government  spy,  I  presume.  The 
government  feared  me.  Well,  then,  it  was  bold 
work,  but  you  will  listen  to  what  I  say  now. 

95 


ROPE'S    END 

We  will  settle  this  matter  quickly,  you  and  I.  I 
have  money.  You  can  name  your  price." 

The  hearer  curled  his  thin  lips.  "So!  You 
have  money.  You  offer  to  buy  your  life.  Old 
Julien  had  no  money;  he  was  poor." 

Petithomme  did  not  understand.  "I  am  too 
powerful  to  remain  in  prison,"  he  declared.  "The 
President  would  not  dare  harm  me;  no  man  dares 
harm  me;  but  I  am  willing  to  pay  you — " 

"All  Hayti  could  not  buy  your  life,  Laguerre!" 

Some  tone  of  voice,  some  haunting  familiarity 
of  feature,  set  the  prisoner's  memory  to  groping 
blindly.  At  last  he  inquired,  "Who  are  you?" 

"I  am  Floreal." 

The  name  meant  nothing.  Laguerre's  life  was 
black;  many  Floreals  had  figured  in  it. 

"You  do  not  remember  me?" 

"N-no,  and  yet—" 

"Perhaps  you  will  remember  another  —  a  wom- 
an. She  had  a  scar,  just  here. "  The  speaker  laid 
a  tobacco-stained  finger  upon  his  left  cheek-bone, 
and  Laguerre  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  the 
wrist  beneath  it  was  maimed  as  from  a  burn.  "It 
was  a  little  scar  and  it  was  brown,  in  the  candle- 
light. She  was  young  and  round  and  her  body 
was  soft — "  The  mulatto's  lean  face  was  sud- 
denly distorted  in  a  horrible  grimace  which  he 
intended  for  a  smile.  ' '  She  was  my  wife,  Laguerre, 
by  the  Church,  and  you  took  her.  She  died,  but 
she  had  a  child — your  child." 

The  huge  black  figure  shrank  into  its  green-and- 
96 


ROPE'S    END 

gold  panoply,   the  bloodshot    eyes   rested    upon 
Inocencio  with  a  look  of  terrified  recognition. 

"I  have  no  children,  Laguerre;  no  wife;  no 
home!  I  am  poor  and  you  have  become  great. 
There  was  an  old  man  whom  you  stretched  by  the 
wrists,  in  the  moonlight.  Do  you  remember  him? 
And  the  old  woman,  my  mother,  whom  one  of 
your  soldiers  shot?  Maximilien  did  it,  but  I  killed 
him  and  Congo!  And  now  there  is  only  you." 

"That  was — long  ago."  The  prisoner  rolled 
his  eyes  desperately;  his  voice  was  uncertain  as  he 
whined,  "I  am  rich — richer  than  anybody  knows." 

"Others  had  more  money  than  we,  eh?" 

The  general  nodded. 

"Pierrine  is  dead,  and  you  would  have  been 
the  President.  It  is  well  that  I  came  in  time." 
Again  Captain  Ruiz  smiled,  and  the  corpulent 
soldier  was  shaken  loosely  as  by  an  invisible  hand. 
"Come  now!  Your  friends  are  approaching  and 
I  must  prepare  you  to  greet  them." 

He  untied  the  knots  at  Laguerre's  ankles,  then 
motioned  him  toward  the  cabin  door. 

That  streamer  of  smoke  had  grown;  it  was  a 
black  smudge  against  the  sky  when  the  two  gained 
the  deck,  and  at  sight  of  it  the  general  shouted : 

"My  ship!  The  gunboat!  Ho!  If  harm  comes 
to  me — 

Inocencio  took  one  end  of  the  new  rope  which 
had  been  run  through  the  block  at  the  mast- 
head, and  knotted  it  about  his  prisoner's  wrists, 
then  with  his  knife  he  severed  the  other  bonds. 

97 


ROPE'S    END 

"Give  way!"  he  ordered. 

The  crew  held  back,  at  which  he  turned  upon 
them  so  savagely  that  they  hastened  to  obey. 
They  put  their  weight  upon  the  line;  Laguerre's 
arms  were  whisked  above  his  head,  he  felt  his  feet 
leave  the  deck.  He  was  dumb  with  surprise, 
choked  with  rage  at  this  indignity,  but  he  did 
not  understand  its  significance. 

"Up  with  him!  In  a  rush!"  cried  the  captain, 
and  hand  over  hand  the  sailors  hauled  in,  while 
upward  in  a  series  of  jerks  went  Petithomme 
Laguerre.  The  schooner  listed  and  he  swung 
outward;  he  tried  to  entwine  his  legs  in  the 
shrouds,  but  failed,  and  he  continued  to  rise  until 
his  feet  had  cleared  the  crosstree. 

"Make  fast!"  Inocencio  ordered. 

Laguerre  was  hanging  like  a  huge  plumbob 
now,  and  as  the  schooner  heeled  to  starboard  he 
swung  out,  farther  and  farther,  until  there  was 
nothing  beneath  him  but  the  glassy  sea.  He 
screamed  at  this,  and  kicked  and  capered;  the 
slender  topmast  sprung  to  his  antics.  Then  the 
vessel  righted  herself,  and  as  she  did  so  the  man  at 
the  rope's  end  began  a  swift  and  fearful  journey. 
Not  until  that  instant  did  his  fate  become  ap- 
parent to  him,  but  when  he  saw  what  was  in 
store  for  him  he  ceased  to  cry  out.  He  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  the  mast  toward  which  the  weight  of  his 
body  propelled  him,  he  drew  himself  upward  by 
his  arms,  he  flung  out  his  legs  to  break  the  impact. 
The  Stella  lifted  by  the  bow  and  he  cleared  the 

98 


ROPE'S    END 

spar  by  a  few  inches.  Onward  he  rushed,  to  the 
pause  that  marked  the  limit  of  his  flight  to  port, 
then  slowly,  but  with  increasing  swiftness,  he 
began  his  return  journey.  Again  he  resisted  fu- 
riously and  again  his  body  missed  the  mast,  all 
but  one  shoulder,  which  brushed  lightly  in  passing 
and  served  to  spin  him  like  a  top.  The  measured 
slowness  of  that  oscillation  added  to  its  horror; 
with  every  escape  the  victim's  strength  decreased, 
his  fear  grew,  and  the  end  approached.  It  was  a 
game  of  chance  played  by  the  hand  of  the  sea. 
Under  him  the  deck  appeared  and  disappeared  at 
regular  intervals,  the  rope  cut  into  his  wrists,  the 
slim  spar  sprung  to  his  efforts.  In  the  distance 
was  a  charcoal  smear  which  grew  blacker. 

After  a  time  Laguerre  heard  Inocencio  counting, 
and  saw  his  upturned  face. 

"Ha!  Very  close,  Monsieur  le  General,  but 
we  will  try  once  again.  Ship's  timber  is  not  so 
hard  as  cocomacaque,  but  sufficiently  hard,  never- 
theless. And  the  rope  bites,  eh?  But  there  was 
old  Julien —  What?  Again?  You  were  always 
lucky.  His  flesh  was  cold  and  his  bones  brittle, 
yet  he  did  not  kick  like  you.  If  Pierrine  were  here 
to  see  this!  What  a  sight  —  the  liberator  of  his 
country — God's  blood,  Laguerre!  The  sea  is  with 
you!  That  makes  five  times.  But  you  are  tiring, 
I  see.  What  a  sight  for  her — the  hero  of  a  hundred 
battles  dangling  like  a  strangled  parrot.  It  is  not 
so  hard  to  die,  monsieur,  it —  Ah-h!" 

A  cry  of  horror  arose  from  the  crew  who  had 
99 


ROPE'S    END 

gathered  forward,  for  Petithomme  Laguerre,  diz- 
zied with  spinning,  had  finally  fetched  up  with  a 
crash  against  the  mast.  He  ricocheted,  the  swing 
of  the  pendulum  became  irregular  for  a  time  or 
two,  then  the  roll  of  the  vessel  set  it  going  again. 
Time  after  time  he  missed  destruction  by  a  hair's- 
breadth,  while  the  voice  from  below  gibed  at  him, 
then  once  more  there  came  the  sound  of  a  blow, 
dull,  yet  loud,  and  of  a  character  to  make  the 
hearers  shudder.  The  victim  struggled  less  vio- 
lently; he  no  longer  drew  his  weight  upward  like 
a  gymnast.  But  he  was  a  man  of  great  vitality; 
his  bones  were  heavy  and  thickly  padded  with 
flesh,  therefore  they  broke  one  by  one,  and  death 
came  to  him  slowly.  The  sea  played  with  him 
maliciously,  saving  him  repeatedly,  only  to  thresh 
him  the  harder  when  it  had  tired  of  its  sport.  It 
was  a  long  time  before  the  restless  Caribbean  had 
reduced  him  to  pulp,  a  spineless,  boneless  thing 
of  putty  which  danced  to  the  spring  of  the  resilient 
spruce. 

They  let  him  down  finally  and  slid  him  into 
the  oily  waters,  overside,  but  the  breeze  refused  to 
come  and  the  Stella  continued  to  wallow  drunken- 
ly.  The  sky  was  glittering,  the  pitch  was  oozing 
from  the  deck,  in  the  distance  the  Haytian  moun- 
tains scowled  through  the  shimmer. 

Inocencio  turned  toward  the  approaching  gun- 
boat, which  was  very  close  by  now,  a  rusty,  ill- 
painted,  ill-manned  tub.  Her  blunt  nose  broke 
the  swells  into  foam,  from  her  peak  depended  the 

100 


ROPE'S   END 

banner  of  the  Black  Republic,  symbolic  of  the 
motto,  "Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity."  The 
captain  of  the  Stella  rolled  and  lit  a  cigarette,  then 
seated  himself  upon  the  cabin  roof  to  wait.  And 
as  he  waited  he  drummed  with  his  naked  heels 
and  smiled,  for  he  was  satisfied. 


INOCENCIO 


INOCENCIO 


/CAPTAIN  INOCENCIO  prepared  to  let  him- 
V>  self  over  the  side  of  the  schooner.  Outside, 
the  Caribbean  was  all  agleam,  save  where  the 
coral-reef  teeth  gnashed  it  into  foam;  inside,  a 
sand  beach,  yellow  in  the  moonlight,  curved  east 
and  west  like  a  causeway  until  the  distance 
swallowed  it.  Back  of  that  lay  the  groves  of 
cocoanut-trees,  their  plumes  waving  in  the  undy- 
ing undulations  that  had  never  ceased  since  first 
the  trade-winds  breathed  upon  them.  Beneath 
the  palms  themselves  the  jungle  was  ink-black, 
patched  here  and  there  with  silver.  The  air  was 
heavy  with  the  slow  rumble  of  an  ever-restless 
surf  and,  all  about,  the  sea  was  whispering,  whis- 
pering, as  if  minded  to  tell  its  mysteries  to  the 
moon,  not  yet  two  hours  high. 

It  was  the  sort  of  night  that  had  ever  wakened 
wild  impulses  in  Captain  Inocencio's  breast.  It 
was  on  such  a  night  that  he  had  first  felt  the 
touch  of  a  woman's  lips;  it  was  on  such  another 
night  that  he  had  first  felt  a  man's  warm  blood 
8  105 


INOCENCIO 

upon  his  hands.  That  had  been  long  ago,  to  be 
sure,  in  far  Hayti,  and  since  that  time  both  of  those 
sensations  had  lost  much  of  their  novelty,  for  he 
had  lived  fast  and  hard,  and  his  exile  had  plunged 
him  into  many  evils.  It  was  on  such  a  night,  also, 
that  he  had  begun  his  wanderings,  fleeing  south- 
ward between  moonrise  and  moonset ;  southward, 
whither  all  the  scum  of  the  Indies  floated.  But, 
even  to  this  day,  when  the  full  of  a  February 
moon  came  round  with  the  fragrant  salt  trades 
blowing  and  the  sound  of  a  throbbing  surf  beneath 
it,  the  sated,  stagnant  blood  of  Captain  Inocencio 
went  hot,  his  thin  mulatto  face  grew  hard,  and  a 
certain  strange  exultance  blazed  within  him. 

His  crew  had  long  since  come  to  recognize  this 
frenzy,  and  had  they  now  beheld  him,  poised 
half  nude  at  the  rail,  his  fierce  eyes  bent  upon  the 
forbidden  shore,  they  would  have  ventured  no  re- 
mark. As  it  happened,  however,  they  were  all 
asleep,  all  three  of  them,  and  the  captain's  lips 
curled  scornfully.  What  could  black  men  know 
about  such  subtleties  as  the  call  of  moonlight? 
What  odds  to  them  if  yonder  palm  fronds  beck- 
oned? They  had  no  curiosity,  no  resentfulness; 
otherwise  they,  too,  might  have  dared  to  break 
the  San  Bias  law. 

It  was  four  years  now  since  he  had  begun 
to  sail  this  coast,  and  even  though  he  was  known 
on  every  cay  and  bay  from  Nombre  de  Dios  to 
Tiburon,  and  even  though  it  was  recognized  that 
the  Sefior  "Beel  Weelliams"  paid  proper  price  for 

1 06 


INOCENCIO 

cocoa  and  ivory  nuts,  his  head  trader  had  never 
beaten  down  the  people's  distrust.  On  the  con- 
trary, their  vigilance  had  increased,  if  anything, 
and  now,  after  four  years  of  scrupulous  fair  deal- 
ing, he,  Captain  Inocencio,  was  still  compelled  to 
sleep  offshore  and  under  guard,  like  any  common 
stranger. 

It  had  made  the  Haytian  laugh  at  first;  for 
who  would  wish  to  harm  a  San  Bias  woman,  with 
the  streets  of  Colon  but  a  hundred  miles  to  the 
west?  Then,  as  the  months  crept  into  years,  and 
for  voyage  after  voyage  he  never  saw  a  San  Bias 
woman's  face,  he  became  furious.  Next  he  grew 
angry,  then  sullen,  and  a  sense  of  injury  burned 
into  him.  He  set  his  wits  against  theirs;  but 
invariably  the  sight  of  his  schooner's  sails  was  a 
signal  for  the  women  to  melt  away — invariably, 
when  night  came,  and  he  and  his  blacks  had  been 
herded  back  aboard  their  craft,  the  women  re- 
turned, and  the  sound  of  their  voices  served  to 
fan  the  flame  within  his  breast. 

Night  after  night,  in  sheltered  coves  or  open 
river-mouths,  the  captain  of  the  Espirita  had 
lain,  belly  down,  upon  the  little  roof  of  the  deck- 
house, his  head  raised  serpent-wise,  his  gloomy 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  cook-fires  in  the  distance. 
And  when  some  woman's  figure  suddenly  stood 
out  against  the  firelit  walls,  or  when  some  mai- 
den's song  came  floating  seaward,  he  had  breathed 
curses  in  his  bastard  French,  and  directed  a  mes- 
sage of  hate  at  the  sentinel  he  knew  was  posted 

107 


INOCENCIO 

in  the  jungle  shadows.  At  times  he  had  railed 
at  his  crew  of  spiritless  Jamaican  "niggers,"  and 
lusted  for  a  following  of  his  own  kind — men  with 
the  French  blood  of  his  island  in  their  veins,  men 
who  would  follow  where  the  moonlight  flickered. 
He  had  even  gone  so  far,  at  one  time,  as  to  search 
the  water-fronts  from  Port  Limon  to  Santa  Marta 
in  quest  of  such  fellows ;  he  had  winnowed  the  off- 
scourings of  the  four  seas  gathered  there,  but  with- 
out success.  They  were  villainous  chaps,  for 
the  main  part,  crossed  with  many  creeds  and 
colors,  and  ready  for  any  desperate  venture;  but 
he  could  not  find  three  helpers  of  sufficient  hardi- 
hood to  tamper  with  the  San  Bias  virgins.  In- 
stead, they  had  retold  him  the  tales  he  already 
knew  by  heart;  tales  of  swift  and  sudden  retribu- 
tion overtaking  blacks  and  whites;  retribution 
that  did  not  halt  even  at  the  French  or  the 
hated  Americanos.  They  told  him  that,  of  all  the 
motley  races  gathered  here  since  earliest  Spanish 
days,  the  San  Bias  blood  alone  retained  its  purity. 
It  was  his  boss,  the  Senor  Williams,  who  had  gone 
back  farthest  into  history,  and  it  was  he  likewise 
who  had  threatened  him  with  prompt  discharge 
if  he  presumed  to  trespass.  The  Senor  Williams 
was  not  one  to  permit  profitable  trade  relations 
to  be  jeopardized  by  the  whim  of  a  Haytian 
mulatto. 

Inocencio  had  listened  passively;  then,  when 
alone,  smiled.  He  owed  no  loyalty.  He  had  no 
law.  Even  the  name  he  went  by  was  a  fiction. 

108 


INOCENCIO 

He  continued  to  make  his  trips  and,  when  he 
came  driving  in  ahead  of  the  humming  trade- winds, 
his  schooner  laden  with  the  treasures  of  the 
islands,  the  back  streets  of  Colon  awoke  to  his 
presence  and  prepared  to  greet  him.  But  how- 
ever loud  the  music  in  the  cantinas,  however  fierce 
the  exaltation  of  the  liquor  in  him,  however  wild 
the  orgy  into  which  he  plunged,  he  could  never 
quite  drown  the  memory  of  those  sleepless  vigils 
far  to  the  eastward.  Ever  in  his  quiet  moments 
he  heard  the  faint  song  of  San  Bias  women  wafted 
by  the  breath  of  the  sea,  ever  in  his  dreams  he  saw 
the  slim  outlines  of  girlish  figures  black  against  a 
flaring  camp-fire. 

Four  years  this  thing  had  grown  upon  him, 
during  which  he  haunted  the  San  Bias  coast.  And 
then,  one  night,  he  slipped  overside  and  swam 
ashore.  It  was  not  so  dangerous  as  it  seemed,  for, 
once  he  had  gained  the  shelter  of  the  jungle,  no 
less  than  a  pack  of  hounds  could  have  followed 
him,  inasmuch  as  the  thickets  were  laced  by  a  net- 
work of  trails  that  gave  forth  no  sound  to  naked 
soles,  and  the  rustling  branches  overhead,  played 
upon  by  the  never-ceasing  breeze,  drowned  all 
signal  of  his  presence.  Once  he  had  defied  the 
tribal  law,  he  knew  no  further  peace.  It  was  like 
the  first  taste  of  blood  to  an  animal.  Thereafter 
Inocencio,  the  outlaw,  whose  name  was  a  symbol 
of  daring,  became  a  jackal  prowling  through  the 
midnight  glades,  tasting  the  scent  of  the  villages, 
and  staring  with  hungry  eyes  from  just  beyond 

109 


INOCENCIO 

the  shadow's  edge.  Rather  he  became  a  panther, 
for  in  his  caution  was  no  cowardice,  only  a  feline 
patience.  Village  after  village  he  hunted  until 
he  had  marked  his  prey.  Then  he  waited  to 
spring. 

To  be  sure,  he  had  never  spoken  with  the  girl, 
nor  even  seen  her  clearly,  but  the  sound  of  her 
voice  made  him  tremble. 

To  accomplish  even  this  much  had  taken  many 
trips  of  the  Espirita,  had  meant  many  sleepless 
nights  and  some  few  tense  moments  when  only  the 
shadows  saved  him  from  betrayal.  There  had 
been  times,  for  instance,  when  the  quick  simula- 
tion of  a  wild  pig's  grunt  or  the  purr  of  el  tigre  had 
served  to  explain  the  sound  of  his  retreat;  other 
times  when  he  had  stood  motionless  in  the  shadows, 
the  evil  rust-red  blade  of  his  machete  matching  the 
hue  of  his  half -nude  body. 

To-night  he  crouched  behind  the  deck-house  and 
ran  his  eye  over  the  schooner  in  one  final  glance  of 
caution.  It  was  well  that  all  should  be  in  readi- 
ness, for  the  moment  of  his  spring  might  come 
within  the  hour,  or,  if  not  to-night,  then  to-morrow 
night,  or  a  week,  a  month,  a  year  from  to-night, 
and  then  a  tackle  fouled  or  a  block  jammed  might 
spell  destruction. 

He  thrust  his  head  through  a  loop  of  the 
leathern  scabbard,  and  swung  the  huge  knife  back 
until  it  lay  along  the  crease  between  his  shoulders ; 
then  he  seized  the  port  stay  and  let  himself  softly 
downward  overside.  The  water  rose  to  his  chin. 

no 


INOCENCIO 

Without  a  ripple,  he  glided  into  the  moonlight 
astern,  and  a  moment  later  his  round,  black  head 
was  no  more  than  a  piece  of  bobbing  drift  borne 
landward  by  the  current. 

Down  past  the  village  he  swam,  noting  the  rows 
of  dugouts  on  the  beach.  He  saw  a  blot  in  the  big 
mahogany  cayuca,  a  great  canoe  hewn  from  one 
priceless  trunk,  and  recognized  it  for  the  sentinel. 
On  he  floated,  then  worked  his  way  ashore  behind 
the  little  point.  Once  he  felt  the  hard,  smooth 
sand  beneath  his  soles,  he  waited  until  a  cloud 
obscured  the  moon,  and  when  the  light  broke 
through  again  he  was  dripping  underneath  a  wide- 
leaved  breadfruit- tree  at  the  jungle's  edge.  Re- 
moving the  machete  from  his  neck,  he  wrung  the 
water  from  his  cotton  trousers.  Over  his  head  a 
night-bird  croaked  hoarsely. 

The  girl  was  at  her  father's  house,  tending  a 
fire  on  the  dirt  floor.  It  was  a  large  house,  for  the 
old  man  was  rich  in  daughters,  and,  by  the  San 
Bias  rule,  their  husbands  had  come  to  live  with 
him.  He  had  waxed  fat  long  ago  on  their  labors, 
and  now  only  this  youngest  one  remained  un- 
married. But  the  ceremony  was  set.  Inocencio 
had  heard  the  news  upon  his  arrival  three  days 
before,  and  had  grudgingly  bought  a  big  store  of 
tortoise-shell  from  the  groom-to-be,  knowing  full 
well  that  the  money  was  intended  for  the  wedding 
celebration.  Markeena  was  the  fellow's  name,  a 
straight,  up-standing  youth  who  more  than  once 
had  excited  the  Haytian's  admiration  for  his  skill 

in 


INOCENCIO 

with  a  canoe.  But  since  that  day  the  latter  had 
regarded  him  with  smoldering  eyes. 

The  big  thatched  roof  with  its  bark-floored  loft 
stood  on  posts  blackened  by  the  smoke  of  many 
feasts;,  there  were  no  walls.  The  jungle  crept 
close  to  it  from  the  rear,  and  hence  the  watcher 
could  witness  every  movement  of  the  girl  as  she 
passed  between  the  hammocks  or  stooped  to  her 
task.  He  could  see,  for  instance,  the  play  of  her 
dark  round  shoulders  above  the  neck  of  her  shift. 
He  ground  his  yellow  teeth  and  gripped  the  moist 
earth  with  the  soles  of  his  naked  feet,  as  a  tiger 
bares  its  claws  before  the  leap. 

It  was  very  hard  to  wait.  For  an  hour  he  stood 
there.  Once  a  dog  came  to  him  and  sniffed,  then, 
recognizing  a  frequent  visitor,  returned  to  the 
house  and  resumed  its  slumber  beside  the  fire. 
From  the  houses  beyond  came  the  sound  of  voices, 
of  a  child  crying  querulously,  and  of  a  woman 
quieting  it.  People  came  and  went.  An  old 
hag  began  pounding  grain  in  a  mortar,  crooning 
in  a  broken  voice.  The  girl's  father  came  rolling 
into  view,  and,  after  a  word  to  her,  struggled 
heavily  up  the  ladder  to  his  bed.  He  was  snoring 
almost  before  the  structure  had  ceased  to  creak 
beneath  him.  In  the  thicket  a  multitude  of 
nocturnal  sounds  arose,  the  insect  chorus  of  the 
night. 

And  then,  before  Inocencio  realized  what  she 
was  up  to,  the  girl  had  stolen  swiftly  out  and  past 
him,  so  close  that  he  could  hear  the  scuff  of  her 

112 


INOCENCIO 

sandals  on  the  beaten  path.  The  next  instant 
he  had  glided  from  cover  and  fallen  in  behind, 
his  pulses  leaping,  his  long,  lithe  muscles  rippling; 
but  he  moved  as  silently  as  a  shadow. 

Had  he  been  a  less  accomplished  bushman  he 
might  have  lost  her,  for  she  plunged  into  the 
jungle  unhesitatingly.  However,  he  had  long  ago 
learned  these  trails  by  daylight,  and  knew  them 
better  than  the  lines  of  his  own  palm;  hence, 
every  moonlit  turn,  every  flash  of  her  white  slip, 
found  him  close  upon  her  track. 

It  puzzled  him  at  first  to  discover  her  reason  for 
this  unexpected  sally,  but  soon  he  decided  she 
must  be  bent  upon  some  mission.  Then,  when  he 
saw  that  she  purposely  avoided  the  village  and 
was  bending  toward  the  open  palm-grove  abreast 
of  his  anchorage,  he  knew  she  must  be  going  to  a 
tryst.  So  Markeefia  was  the  sentinel!  That  fel- 
low in  the  mahogany  cayuca  was  her  lover! 
Inocencio,  the  dissolute,  felt  a  flame  of  rage  suf- 
fuse him.  When,  at  last,  his  quarry  emerged  into 
the  mysterious  half-light  under  the  high  roof  of 
palms,  and  paused,  he  strode  after  her.  She  gave 
the  melancholy  call  of  the  night-bird  that  had 
sounded  in  the  breadfruit-tree  over  his  head 
earlier  in  the  evening;  then,  seeing  him  close 
beside  her,  uttered  a  little  cry  of  pleasure.  Not 
until  he  was  too  near  for  flight  did  she  discov- 
er her  mistake,  and  then  she  seemed  to  freeze. 
Her  utter  silence  was  more  menacing  than  a 
scream. 


INOCENCIO 

It  was  the  instant  for  which  he  had  schooled 
himself,  so  he  spoke  to  her  in  her  own  tongue. 

"Make  no  outcry!     I  will  not  harm  you." 

She  drew  back,  at  which  he  laid  his  great,  bony 
hand  upon  her,  his  eyes  blazing.  She  was  deathly 
frightened,  being  little  more  than  a  child. 

"I  have  waited  for  you  many  nights,"  he  ex- 
plained. ' '  I  feared  you  would  never  come. ' '  Then, 
as  she  continued  to  stare  up  at  him  uncompre- 
hendingly,  he  ran  on:  "I  am  Inocencio,  the  trader. 
Every  night  I  have  watched  you  at  your  work. 
I  want  you  for  my  woman." 

Her  voice  had  forsaken  her  utterly,  but  she 
struggled  weakly,  so  he  tightened  his  grip  until 
his  fingers  sank  into  her  flesh.  She  began  to 
gasp  as  if  from  a  swift  run;  the  open  neck  of  her 
garment  slipped  down  over  one  shoulder;  her  eyes 
were  distended  until  he  saw  them  ringed  about 
with  white.  The  terror  of  this  tall  yellow  man 
with  the  hungry  eyes  robbed  her  of  power,  and  she 
let  him  drag  her  toward  the  lapping  water  as  if 
she  were  no  more  than  some  weak,  wild  thing 
that  he  had  trapped. 

Of  course  she  knew  him,  for,  while  the  San  Bias 
law  may  banish  women,  it  cannot  blind  them,  and 
she,  too,  had  studied  him  from  concealment. 
Although  his  words  had  made  no  impression  what- 
ever upon  her,  his  grasp  and  the  direction  he  was 
drawing  her  had  at  last  translated  what  was  in  his 
mind.  Then  she  burst  into  life.  But  she  made 
no  outcry,  for  it  takes  strength  to  scream,  and 

114 


INOCENCIO 

every  atom  of  her  force  was  directed  against  his. 
She  began  to  moan.  Her  every  muscle  writhed. 
With  her  free  hand  she  tore  at  his  entwining 
fingers,  but  they  were  like  jungle  creepers  that  no 
human  strength  could  serve  to  loosen.  And  all 
the  time  he  drew  her  with  him,  speaking  softly. 

Then  she  felt  him  pause,  and  her  distracted 
vision  beheld  another  figure  entering  the  shadows 
from  the  shore.  She  called  to  her  lover  hoarsely, 
and  saw  him  halt  at  the  strange  note,  peering  in- 
ward for  a  sight  of  her.  She  voiced  words  now 
for  the  first  time,  crying: 

"The  stranger!     The  stranger!" 

Then,  hearing  the  scrape  of  her  captor's  machete 
as  he  drew  it  from  its  scabbard,  she  renewed  her 
struggle  more  fiercely. 

Captain  Inocencio  held  the  girl  at  his  left  side 
until  the  last  moment,  balancing  the  great  knife- 
blade  as  if  to  try  his  arm;  then,  when  the  Indian 
was  close  upon  him,  coming  straight  as  a  dart,  he 
freed  himself.  A  slanting  moonbeam  showed 
Markeena's  ferocious  visage  and  his  upraised 
weapon,  but  the  Haytian  met  the  falling  blow 
with  a  fierce  upward  stroke  that  once  before  had 
done  him  service.  It  was  the  stroke  that  had 
made  him  an  exile  years  before. 

Inocencio's  physical  strength  had  ever  been  his 
pride,  if  also  his  undoing.  Above  all  things,  he 
prided  himself  upon  the  dexterity  and  vigor  of  his 
wrist.  His  early  training  on  that  blood-red 
Caribbean  isle,  and  a  later  life  in  thicket  and 


INOCENCIO 

swamp,  had  served  to  transform  the  cumbrous 
native  weapon  into  a  thing  of  life  at  his  hands. 
More  than  once,  for  instance,  he  had  harried 
a  serpent  until  it  struck,  for  the  mere  satisfaction 
of  severing  its  head  in  midcourse,  and  now  he 
felt  the  wide  blade  enter  flesh.  Before  his  an- 
tagonist could  cry  out  twice  he  had  slashed  again, 
this  time  downward  as  if  to  split  a  green  cocoanut. 
The  next  instant  he  had  seized  the  girl  as  she 
fled  into  the  jungle. 

But  she  had  found  her  voice  at  last,  and  he  was 
forced  to  muffle  her  with  his  palm.  When  they 
were  out  into  the  moonlight,  however,  with  the 
dry  sand  up  to  their  ankles,  he  let  her  breathe; 
then,  pointing  with  his  machete  to  the  Espirita 
lying  white  and  ghostlike  in  the  offing,  he  drove  her 
down  into  the  warm  sea  until  it  reached  her  waist. 

"Swim!"  he  ordered,  and,  when  she  would  have 
renewed  the  alarm,  he  raised  his  blade,  grimly 
threatening  to  call  the  sharks  with  her  blood. 

"Swim!"  he  repeated,  and  she  struck  out,  with 
him  at  her  shoulder. 

But  the  village  was  roused.  A  confused  clamor 
betrayed  its  bewilderment,  and  before  the  swim- 
mers had  won  more  than  half-way  to  the  schooner, 
figures  came  running  along  the  shore.  Inocencio 
cautioned  the  girl  to  hold  her  tongue,  and  she 
obeyed,  thoroughly  cowed  by  his  roughness. 
She  turned  upon  her  side  and  swam  with  her  face 
close  to  his,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him  curiously, 
wonderingly.  Her  easy  progress  through  the 

116 


INOCENCIO 

water  showed  that  her  fright  had  largely  vanished, 
and  showed  likewise  that,  had  the  Haytian  been 
no  uncommon  swimmer  himself,  she  might  have 
distanced  him.  All  the  way  out  to  the  boat  she 
stared  at  him  with  that  same  fixed  look,  main- 
taining her  position  at  his  side.  The  moon  and 
the  salt  brine  in  his  eyes  played  him  tricks,  else 
he  might  have  fancied  her  to  be  half  smiling,  as 
if  in  some  strange  exaltation  akin  to  his  own. 

Not  until  he  finally  dragged  her,  panting,  to  the 
deck  of  the  Espirita,  and  her  white-clad  figure 
stood  out  clearly  from  the  shore,  did  her  tribes- 
men realize  the  nature  of  the  alarm.  Then  the 
vibrant  turmoil  suddenly  stilled  for  the  space  of  a 
full  minute  while  the  enormity  of  the  outrage 
made  itself  felt.  They  drew  together  at  the  edge 
of  the  sea,  staring  open-mouthed,  amazed,  before 
they  raised  their  blood-cry. 

The  man  and  woman  rested  a  moment,  their 
eyes  upon  the  shore,  and  where  they  stood  twin 
pools  of  water  blackened  the  deck.  Then  Inocen- 
cio  turned  to  look  upon  his  prey.  The  girl's 
flimsy  cotton  shift  was  molded  to  her  figure,  and 
he  saw  that  she  was  even  fairer  than  he  had 
pictured.  In  spite  of  his  need  for  haste,  he 
paused  to  gloat  upon  the  favor  the  moon  and  the 
salt  sea  had  rendered  him.  As  for  her,  she  flung 
his  glance  back  bravely  until  he  wrenched  open 
the  cabin  hatch  and  pointed  to  the  dark  interior. 
Then  she  weakened.  But  she  had  a  will  of  her 
own,  it  seemed,  for  she  refused  to  be  locked  inside. 

117 


INOCENCIO 

He  strode  toward  her,  and  she  clutched  the  rigging 
desperately,  turning  her  glance  to  one  of  appeal. 

"You  may  come  up  in  a  moment,"  he  trans- 
lated, but  still  she  clung  to  the  stay.  "If  you 
try  to  escape —  He  scowled  upon  her  terribly,  at 
which  she  shook  her  head.  Having  already  tasted 
her  strength,  he  knew  there  was  no  time  to  force 
her,  so  he  leaped  at  his  crew. 

The  three  blacks  were  snoring  forward  of  the 
deck-house,  so  he  seized  a  bucket  of  water  at  the 
rail  and  sluiced  them  into  wakefulness,  keeping 
his  eye  upon  the  girl  meanwhile.  When  he  saw 
that  in  truth  she  made  no  move  he  let  his  caution 
slip  and  raged  over  the  ship  like  a  tiger,  beating 
his  half-clad  crew  ahead  of  him  with  the  flat  of 
his  machete.  By  the  time  they  had  gained  their 
wits  the  tribesmen  were  massing  at  the  canoes. 
As  the  mainsail  rose  creaking  he  broke  out  the  jib 
with  his  own  hand,  then  with  one  stroke  of  his 
knife  severed  the  manila  mooring-rope,  and  the 
Espirita  fell  off  slowly  ahead  of  the  breeze. 
Inocencio  ran  back  to  spur  his  befuddled  "niggers" 
to  further  activity,  only  to  find  the  girl  still 
motionless,  her  eyes  following  his  every  movement. 
Under  the  curses,  the  schooner  slowly  raised  her 
wings  and  the  night  wind  began  to  strain  at  the 
cordage. 

But  at  last,  when  the  Jamaicans  were  fully 
awake  to  the  state  of  affairs,  they  threatened 
mutiny,  whereat  the  mulatto  flung  himself  upon 
them  so  savagely  that  they  scattered  to  arm  them- 

118 


INOCENCIO 

selves  with  whatever  weapons  lay  at  hand. 
Then  they  huddled  amidship,  rolling  their  eyes 
and  praying;  for  out  from  the  shore  came  a  long 
mahogany  cayuca,  and  it  was  full  of  straight- 
haired  men. 

It  takes  a  sailing-craft  some  time  to  gain  its 
momentum,  and  as  yet  the  full  strength  of  the 
trades  had  not  struck  the  Espirita;  hence  the 
canoe  overtook  her  rapidly.  Inocencio  called  to 
one  of  his  men  and  gave  him  the  tiller,  then  took 
stand  beside  the  girl,  the  naked  blade  of  his 
weapon  once  more  beneath  his  arm. 

The  schooner's  helmsman  gave  himself  to  God, 
while  the  cordage  overhead  began  to  whine  as  the 
deck  rose.  It  was  upon  the  Haytian's  lips  to  warn 
his  pursuers  off  when  one  of  them  called  to  the  girl, 
bidding  her  leap.  Inocencio  heard  the  breath 
catch  in  her  throat,  but  she  made  no  move,  and 
the  command  was  repeated. 

This  time  she  answered  by  some  exclamation 
that  he  did  not  understand,  whereat  the  canoemen 
ceased  paddling,  as  if  her  word  had  paralyzed 
them.  They  hurled  their  voices  at  her  savagely, 
but  she  remained  motionless,  the  while  the  waters 
beneath  her  began  to  foam  and  bubble.  The 
Espirita's  crew  ceased  their  prayers,  and  in  the 
silence  that  ensued  the  sea  whispered  at  the  bow 
as  the  craft  listed  more  heavily  under  the  full  force 
of  the  wind. 

Inocencio  could  not  fathom  the  meaning  of  the 
subdued  colloquy  among  the  San  Bias  men,  so  he 

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shouted  a  warning,  but,  strangely  enough,  they 
made  no  answer.  They  only  crouched,  with  pad- 
dles motionless,  staring  at  the  dimming  figures  fac- 
ing them,  until  the  Espirita,  "wing  and  wing" 
ahead  of  the  trades,  was  no  larger  than  a  sea- 
gull. As  yet  they  had  not  learned  of  the  other 
tragedy  hidden  in  the  shadow  of  the  palms;  had 
they  suspected  what  lay  weltering  at  the  edge  of  a 
trampled  moonlit  glade  behind  them,  no  threat  of 
Inocencio's,  no  plea  of  his  new-found  woman, 
could  have  held  them  back. 

Once  the  schooner  was  under  way,  the  Haytian 
led  the  girl  to  the  deck-house  and  thrust  her 
roughly  inside,  closing  the  hatch.  Then  with  his 
own  hands  he  took  his  craft  through  the  reef  and 
out  into  the  leaping  Caribbean.  Not  until  the 
San  Bias  coast  was  a  mere  charcoal  line  upon  the 
port  quarter  and  the  salt  spray  was  driving  high 
did  he  deliver  over  the  helm.  At  last,  however, 
he  gave  his  crew  instructions  for  the  night  and 
went  below,  closing  and  bolting  the  hatch  behind 
him.  When  the  smoky  lamp  that  swung  between 
the  bunks  was  lit  and  its  yellow  gleam  had  illu- 
mined the  interior  he  saw  the  girl's  eyes  fast  upon 
him.  He  went  toward  her  across  the  tilting  floor 
and  she  arose  to  meet  him,  smiling. 


ii 

SENOR   BILL   WILLIAMS   was   in    a   fine   rage. 
"Didn't  you  like  your  job?"  he  questioned. 

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Inocencio  shrugged  languidly.  "Oh  yes!  The 
job  was  good." 

"You  knew  I'd  fire  you!" 

"Sit" 

The  American  tempered  his  indignant  glare  with 
a  hint  of  curiosity.  "You  must  love  that  San 
Bias  girl." 

"What  do  you  say?" 

"You  must  love  her — better  than  your  job  at 
least?" 

"Si,  sefior.     I  suppose  so." 

"What  is  she  like,  Inocencio?" 

"Well,  she  is  just  like  other  women.  All 
women  are  alike — only  some  are  fat.  One  time  I 
had  a  female  from  Martinique,  and  she  acted  just 
the  same  as  this  one." 

"Humph!  If  she  is  like  all  the  others,  what 
the  devil  made  you — do  it?" 

1 '  Sefior,  you  have  plenty  of  money,  and  yet  one 
night  I  saw  you  bet  two  thousand  pesos  on  the 
rouge.  Why  did  you  do  that,  eh?" 

"That  is  altogether  different." 

The  Haytian  smiled.  "I  am  tired  of  these 
females  at  Colon.  They  are  common  people — 
very  common.  Then,  too,  those  San  Bias  people, 
they  are  so  scared  that  somebody  is  going  to  steal  a 
woman !  Maybe  if  they  had  left  me  asleep  on  shore 
I  would  never  have  noticed  no  woman  at  all.  But 
they  don't  trust  me,  so,  sure  enough — I  steal  one." 

"And  you  say  she  came  willingly?"  queried 
Williams,  incredulously. 

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"Oh  yes!  When  her  people  commanded  her  to 
jump  from  my  schooner  she  refused  them.  I 
did  not  understand  at  the  time,  but  by  an'  by  she 
told  me."  He  swelled  his  chest  with  pride.  "I 
guess  she  never  seen  so  brave  a  man  as  me  before. 
Eh,  senor? " 

"Humph !  I  guess  I  never  will  sabe  you  niggers," 
acknowledged  the  American. 

Inocencio  corrected  his  recent  employer,  but 
without  show  of  the  slightest  heat : 

"I  am  no  nigger,  senor;  I  am  Haytian.  She  is 
San  Bias  Indian.  My  father  was  not  even  so  dark 
as  me.  Black  men  have  thick  heads  and  you 
have  to  beat  them,  but  nobody  ever  beat  me,  not 
even  a  white  man.  When  those  niggers  sleep  I 
lie  awake  and  study;  I  make  schemes.  That  is 
why  I  left  Hayti." 

"Do  you  understand  that  you've  got  me  into 
a  hell  of  a  fix?  I've  got  to  take  a  trip  down  there 
myself  to  square  things." 

Inocencio  lighted  a  black  cigarette  and  blew 
the  smoke  through  his  nose.  Evidently  other 
people's  troubles  did  not  concern  him.  Recog- 
nizing the  futility  of  reproach  or  indignation,  the 
former  speaker  continued: 

"But  see  here,  now!  This  girl!  You  can't 
keep  her." 

"Eh?  Who's  going  to  take  her  away?"  inter- 
rogated the  Haytian,  quickly.  "Bah!  One  man 
tried  that,  and — I  killed  him  with  my  machete." 
His  thin  lips  drew  back  at  the  memory,  and  for  an 

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instant  his  yellow  face  showed  a  hint  of  what  had 
made  his  reputation. 

"She  won't  stay  with  you." 

"Oh  yes,  she  will.  She  was  wild,  very  wild  at 
first,  but — she  will  stay." 

"And  how  about  her  people?  They're  bad 
hombres.  Even  the  government  lets  them  alone — 
fortunately  for  you." 

"They  won't  make  no  trouble  about  that 
Markeena.  He  is  quite  dead,  I  think." 

"By  Jove!    You're  a  cold-blooded  brute!" 

"Sefior!  You  told  me  once  that  nobody  had 
ever  married  a  San  Bias  female,  eh?" 

"Yes.  Even  the  old  Spaniards  tried  it,  but  the 
blood  is  clean,  so  far;  something  unusual,  too,  in 
this  country." 

Inocencio  began  to  laugh  silently,  as  if  at  a  joke. 
"Some  day,  maybe,  you  will  see  a  San  Bias  half- 
breed  playing  in  the  streets  of  Colon,"  said  he. 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

"I'll  bet  you  my  wages — two  hundred  pesos. 
Come!  I'll  show  you." 

"You  get  out  of  here,"  said  the  American, 
roughly.  "That's  something  I  don't  allow  any- 
body to  joke  about."  And,  when  the  mulatto 
had  gone,  he  continued  aloud:  "By  Heaven!  this 
is  sure  a  tough  country  for  a  white  man!" 

Inocencio  strode  through  the  streets  toward  the 
swamp  that  lies  behind  the  town,  oblivious  to  the 
grilling  midday  heat  that  smote  him  from  above, 
from  the  concrete  walks  beneath,  and  from  the 

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naked  walls  on  every  side.  It  was  before  the  days 
of  the  American  occupation,  and  the  streets  were 
nothing  more  than  open  cesspools,  the  stench  from 
which  offended  sorely.  Buzzards  flapped  among 
the  naked  children  at  play  in  the  mire  beside  the 
sewer  ditches. 

The  place  was  filled  with  everything  unhealthy, 
and  had  long  been  known  as  the  earth's  great 
festering  sore.  Neither  the  Orient  nor  the  farthest 
tropics  boasted  another  spot  like  Colon,  or  Aspin- 
wall,  as  it  had  been  called,  with  its  steaming,  hip- 
deep  streets  and  its  brilliant  flowering  graveyards. 
So  hateful  had  it  proved,  in  fact,  that  when  sea- 
men signed  articles  binding  themselves  to  work 
their  ships  into  any  corner  of  the  globe  they  in- 
serted a  clause  exempting  them  from  entering 
Aspinwall. 

Now,  however,  the  town  was  lively,  for  this  was 
the  dry  season,  when  the  fever  was  at  its  lowest, 
and  the  resorts  were  filled  with  the  flotsam  and 
jetsam  of  a  tropic  world.  It  was  a  polyglot  town, 
moreover,  set  upon  a  fever-ridden  mangrove  isle 
serving  as  one  terminus  of  the  world's  short  cut, 
and  in  it  had  collected  all  the  parasites  that  live 
upon  the  moving  herd. 

The  French  work  of  digging  had  but  served  to 
augment  the  natural  population  by  a  no  less 
desperate  set  from  overseas,  and  now  from  the 
open  doors  of  their  cubbyholes  women  of  every  col- 
or greeted  the  passer-by. 

Inocencio,  whose  last  exploit  was  already  a 
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thing  of  gossip,  received  unusual  attention,  there 
being  no  color  line  in  Colon  town.  White,  yellow, 
and  black  women  fawned  upon  him  and  bade  him 
tarry,  but  he  merely  paused  to  listen  or  to  fan  their 
admiration  by  a  word,  then  idled  onward,  pleased 
at  the  notice  he  evoked. 

Once  fairly  out  of  the  pest-hole,  he  threaded  his 
way  through  the  swamp  toward  the  other  shore  of 
the  island.  Blue  land-crabs  scuttled  among  the 
mangrove  roots  at  his  approach;  the  place  was 
noisy  with  the  hum  of  insects;  on  every  hand  the 
heated  mud  gave  forth  a  sound  like  the  smack  of 
huge  moist  lips.  But  on  the  other  side  he  came 
into  a  different  domain.  Here  the  sea-breeze 
banished  the  hovering  miasma,  the  shore  was  of 
powdered  coral  sand,  a  litter  of  huts  drowsed  be- 
neath a  grove  of  cocoa  palms,  while  a  fleet  of 
cayucas  lay  moored  to  stakes  inside  the  breakers  or 
bleaching  in  the  sun. 

Captain  Inocencio  was  a  person  of  some  im- 
portance here,  for,  besides  his  occupation  as  a 
trader,  he  exacted  toll  from  a  score  or  more  of  lazy 
blacks.  They  were  a  lawless  crew,  gathered  from 
the  remotest  corners  of  the  Indies,  composed  of 
Jamaicans,  'Bajans,  and  Saint  Lucians,  all  reared 
to  easy  life  and  ripe  for  such  an  occasional  crafty 
pilgrimage  as  Inocencio  might  devise.  They  had 
gathered  around  him  naturally,  paying  him  scant 
revenue,  to  be  sure,  yet  offering  a  certain  loyalty 
that  had  its  uses.  Although  the  village  was  but 
a  mile  from  the  town  itself,  Inocencio's  word  was 

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law;  when  the  Colombian  soldiers  were  called 
upon  to  visit  the  spot,  they  came  in  numbers, 
never  singly. 

The  girl  was  seated  on  the  rickety  porch  of  his 
cabin,  her  feet  drawn  under  her,  her  chin  upon  her 
knees.  The  other  women  were  gossiping  loudly, 
staring  at  her  from  a  distance,  but  her  black  eyes 
only  smoldered  sullenly.  He  swore  at  the  curious 
negro  wenches  and  sent  the  girl  about  her  house- 
hold duties,  then  stretched  himself  in  the  shade 
and  eyed  her  complacently  until  he  fell  asleep. 

It  was  a  week  later  that  one  of  his  men  came  to 
him  breathlessly  to  announce  that  the  San  Bias 
Indians  were  in  the  town. 

"How  many?"  queried  Inocencio. 

"Four  boat-loads." 

"Did  they  come  to  trade?" 

"Oh  yes,  boss." 

This  was  no  unusual  thing,  for  they  often  dis- 
played their  little  cargoes  of  nuts  and  fruits  and 
vegetables  upon  the  water-front.  Inocencio  rose 
lazily  and  stretched,  then,  calling  the  woman,  ex- 
plained the  tidings  to  her. 

"I  will  go  see  them,"  he  announced,  finally. 

"Oh,  boss,"  cried  the  black  man,  "they  will 
kill  you!" 

He  shrugged  his  brawny  shoulders  and,  thrust- 
ing the  machete  beneath  his  arm,  took  the  trail 
out  through  the  mangrove  swamp. 

Straight  to  the  Colon  water-front  he  went,  and 
there  flaunted  himself  before  the  men  from  down 

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the  coast.  Here  and  there  he  strolled,  cast- 
ing back  their  looks  of  hatred  with  a  bravado 
that  attracted  all  the  idlers  in  the  neighborhood. 
Wenches  nudged  one  another  and  tittered  nervous- 
ly, pointing  him  out  and  telling  anew  the  story  of 
his  daring.  Men  watched  him  with  wondering 
admiration,  and  he  heard  them  murmuring: 

"Ah,  that  Inocencio!" 

"El  diabolo!" 

"And  so  brave!    He  would  fight  an  army." 

"See  the  great  arms  of  him,  and  the  eye  like  a 
tiger." 

It  was  the  keenest  pleasure  he  had  ever  tasted. 

As  for  his  enemies,  they  kept  their  silence. 
They  bartered  their  stock  and,  having  made  their 
purchases,  raised  sail  and  scudded  away  down  the 
coast  whence  they  had  come. 

Inocencio  got  drunk  that  night — for  who  could 
withstand  the  lavish  flattery  that  poured  from 
every  cantina  up  and  down  the  length  of  Bottle 
Alley?  Who  could  resist  the  smiles  of  the  chalk- 
faced  females  of  Cash  Street,  all  eager  to  laud  his 
bravery.  Some  time  before  morning  he  reeled 
into  his  shack  beneath  the  palms,  to  find  the 
woman  waiting  fearfully.  He  cursed  at  her  for 
staring  at  him  so,  and  fell  upon  his  bed. 

In  the  months  that  followed  he  seldom  lost  an 
opportunity  of  showing  himself  to  the  San  Bias 
men  when  they  came  to  town,  but  in  time  this 
pleasure  palled  as  all  others  had,  for  the  woman's 
kindred  seemed  incapable  of  resentment.  Grad- 

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ually,  also,  he  became  accustomed  to  her  presence, 
and  spent  much  of  his  time  among  the  women  of 
Cash  Street.  On  one  occasion  he  returned  from 
an  orgy  of  this  sort  to  find  her  talking  to  one  of 
his  men,  a  young  Barbadian  with  a  giant's  frame. 
It  was  only  by  accident,  due  to  the  liquor  in  him, 
that  his  hand  went  wild  and  he  missed  killing 
the  fellow;  then  he  beat  the  woman  unmerci- 
fully. 

Chancing  to  meet  the  Sefior  Williams  on  the 
street  some  time  later,  he  said:  "Buenas  dias, 
sefior!  You  see,  Captain  Inocencio  is  still  alive 
and  the  woman  has  not  run  away." 

His  former  employer  grunted,  as  if  neither 
phenomenon  were  worthy  of  comment. 

"I've  heard  how  you  rub  it  into  those  San 
Bias  fellows,"  Williams  remarked.  "I  can't  un- 
derstand why  they  never  avenged  Markeena." 

"Bah!  They  have  heard  of  me,"  said  the 
Haytian,  boastfully;  then,  with  a  grin,  "You  re- 
member our  bet,  sefior?" 

"I  never  made  you  a  bet,"  the  American  de- 
nied, hotly.  "But  I've  a  mind  to.  I've  been 
here  ten  years,  and  I  think  I  know  those  people." 

"Two  hundred  pesos!" 

"You'll  never  have  a  child  by  her.  They  won't 
allow  it.  They'll  get  her  and  you,  too,  in  ample 
time.  I  tell  you,  their  blood  is  clean." 

"Two  hundred  pesos  that  she  brings  me  a  San 
Bias  half-breed  within  two  months,"  smiled  the 
mulatto,  insolently. 

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INOCENCIO 

And  Williams  exclaimed :  "I'll  do  it.  It's  worth 
two  hundred  'silver'  to  see  a  miracle." 

"Bueno!     I'll  bring  him  to  you  when  he  comes." 

Thereafter  Inocencio  gave  over  beating  the 
woman. 

Back  at  the  little  settlement  beyond  the  swamp 
the  coming  event  did  not  pass  without  comment, 
and  although  the  black  women  were  kind  to  their 
straight-haired  neighbor,  she  never  made  friends 
with  them,  nor  did  she  ever  accompany  Inocencio 
to  town.  On  the  contrary,  she  seemed  obsessed 
by  an  ever-present  dread,  and  whenever  she  heard 
that  her  own  people  were  near  she  concealed  her- 
self and  did  not  appear  again  until  they  were 
gone.  Bred  into  her  deepest  conscience  was  the 
certainty  that  her  tribe  would  make  desperate 
attempt  to  preserve  its  most  sacred  tradition,  and 
hence,  as  the  days  dragged  on  and  her  condition 
became  more  pronounced  her  fears  increased  like- 
wise. She  began  to  look  forward  to  the  birth  of 
the  child  as  the  crisis  upon  which  her  own  life 
hinged.  Inocencio  did  his  best  to  dissipate  her 
fears,  explaining  boastfully  that  the  mere  mention 
of  his  name  was  ample  protection  for  her,  and,  did 
he  wish  it,  not  even  the  army  of  the  Republic 
could  take  her  from  him.  But  still  she  would  not 
be  convinced. 

And  then,  in  the  dark  of  the  December  moon, 
the  expected  came.  It  was  that  season  when  the 
rains  were  at  their  heaviest,  when  rust  and  rot 
might  be  felt  by  the  fingers.  A  gray  mold  had 

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crept  over  all  things  indoors;  a  myriad  of  insect 
pests  burdened  the  air. 

In  the  rare  intervals  between  showers  every 
faintest  draught  deluged  the  huts  from  the  drip- 
ping palm  leaves  overhead.  From  the  swamp  arose 
a  noxious  vapor  whenever  the  sun  exposed  itself; 
tree-toads  shrilled  incessantly.  Outside,  the  turf 
maintained  its  sullen  murmur;  through  the  gloom 
of  starless  nights  its  phosphorescent  outlines  rushed 
across  the  reef  like  phantom  serpents  in  parade. 

In  the  dead  of  a  night  like  this  the  visitors 
arrived. 

Even  the  heavy  animal  slumber  of  the  blacks 
was  broken  by  the  scream  that  issued  from  the  hut 
of  Captain  Inocencio.  And  then  the  sound  of 
such  fighting !  The  negroes  might  have  rushed  to 
the  assistance  of  their  leader  had  it  not  been  for 
the  echo  of  that  awful  woman-cry  hovering  over 
the  village  like  a  shadow.  It  filled  the  air  and 
hung  there,  saturating  the  breathless  night  with 
such  unnamable  terror  that  the  wakened  children 
began  to  whimper  and  the  women  buried  their 
heads  in  the  ragged  bedding  to  keep  it  out.  Death 
was  among  them  and  the  bravest  cowered  while 
through  the  quivering  silence  there  came  the 
sounds  of  a  mighty  combat  lasting  for  such  an 
interminable  time  that  the  listeners  became  hys- 
terical. 

At  length  they  discovered  that  the  night  was 
dead  again,  save  for  the  sudden  patter  of  rain- 
drops on  the  thatches  when  the  palm  fronds 

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stirred.  One  of  them  called  shrilly,  another  an- 
swered, but  they  did  not  venture  forth.  After- 
ward they  fancied  they  had  heard  the  thrust  of 
paddles  in  the  lagoon  and  strange  voices  dwindling 
away  to  seaward,  but  they  were  not  sure.  Eventu- 
ally, however,  the  stillness  got  upon  them  more 
fearfully  than  the  former  noises,  and  they  stirred. 
Then,  in  time,  they  heard  the  voice  of  Inocencio 
himself  cursing  faintly,  as  if  from  a  great  distance. 
A  light  showed  through  the  cracks  of  a  hut,  and 
Nicholas,  the  least  timid,  emerged  with  a  lantern 
held  on  high.  He  summoned  the  rest  around  him, 
then  went  toward  the  black  shadow  of  Inocencio's 
dwelling  with  a  score  of  white-eyed,  dusky  faces 
at  his  shoulder. 

The  door  was  down,  and  from  the  threshold  they 
could  see  what  the  front  room  contained.  It  was 
Nicholas  who,  with  clattering  teeth  and  nerveless 
fingers,  dragged  a  blanket  from  the  bed  and  cov- 
ered the  woman's  figure.  It  was  he  who  traced  the 
feeble  voice  to  the  wreck  of  a  room  behind,  and 
strove  to  lift  Inocencio  out  of  the  welter  in  which 
he  lay.  But  the  Haytian  blasted  him  with  curses 
for  opening  his  wounds;  so  they  propped  him 
against  the  wall  by  his  direction,  and  bound  him 
about  with  strips  torn  from  the  mattress.  Then 
he  called  for  a  cigarette,  and  its  ashes  were  upon 
his  breast  when  the  French  doctor  arrived  from 
the  hospital  on  the  Point. 

When  the  white  man's  work  was  done,  the 
mulatto  addressed  him  weakly: 


INOCENCIO 

"Will  m'sieu'  do  me  a  great  favor?" 

"Certainly." 

"M'sieu'  is  acquainted  with  the  American, 
Sefior  Williams?" 

"Of**." 

"Will  m'sieu'  le  docteur  please  to  tell  him  that 
Captain  Inocencio  has  won  his  wager?  " 

"I  don't  understand." 

"Listen!  In  the  room  yonder,  under  the  bed, 
m'sieu'  will  find  a  little  boy  baby  rolled  up  in  a 
blanket.  The  woman  heard  them  at  the  door, 
and  she  was  just  in  time.  Oh,  she  knew  they 
would  be  coming." 

The  French  doctor  nodded  his  comprehension. 
"But — your  wife  herself?"  said  he.  "Perhaps 
when  you  are  well  again  you  can  have  your  ven- 
geance. The  soldiers  will — 

"Bah!  What  is  the  use?"  interrupted  Inocen- 
cio. "The  world  is  full  of  women."  Then, 
strangely  enough,  he  bared  his  yellow  teeth  in  a 
smile  of  rarest  tenderness.  "But  this  boy  of 
mine!  They  came  to  kill  him,  m'sieu',  and  to 
show  that  the  San  Bias  blood  cannot  be  crossed; 
but  the  woman  was  too  quick  of  wit.  They  did 
not  find  him,  praise  God!  Le  docteur  has  seen 
many  children,  perhaps,  but  never  a  child  like 
this."  He  ran  on  with  a  father's  tender  boast- 
fulness.  "M'sieu'  will  note  the  back  and  the  legs 
of  him.  And  see,  he  did  not  even  cry,  poor  little 
man!  Oh,  he  is  like  his  father  for  bravery!  He 
will  be  my  vengeance,  for  he  has  the  San  Bias 

132 


INOCENCIO 

blood  in  him;  he  will  be  a  man  like  me,  too. 
Bring  him  to  me  quickly;  I  must  see  him  again." 
He  was  still  babbling  fondly  to  the  negroes  about 
him  when  the  doctor  reappeared,  empty-handed. 

"The  child  is  dead,"  said  the  white  man,  simply. 

In  the  silence  Inocencio  rose  to  a  sitting  posture. 
His  fierce  eyes  grew  wild  with  a  fright  that  had 
never  been  there  until  this  moment.  Then,  be- 
fore they  could  prevent  him,  he  had  gained  his 
feet.  He  waved  them  aside  and  went  into  the 
room  of  death,  walking  like  a  strong  man.  A 
candle  guttering  beside  the  open  window  betrayed 
the  utter  nakedness  of  the  place.  With  one  move- 
ment of  his  great,  bony  hands  he  ripped  the  planks 
of  the  bed  asunder  and  stared  downward.  Then 
he  turned  to  the  east  and,  raising  his  arms 
above  his  head,  gave  a  terrible  cry.  He  began  to 
sway,  and  even  as  the  doctor  leaped  to  save  him 
he  fell  with  a  crash. 

It  was  Nicholas  who  told  the  priest  that  the 
French  doctor  would  not  let  them  move  him; 
for  he  lay  upon  his  face  at  the  feet  of  the  San  Bias 
woman,  his  arms  flung  outward  like  the  arms  of  a 
cross. 


THE    WAG-LADY 


THE    WAG-LADY 

HER  real  name  was  June — well,  the  rest  doesn't 
matter;  for  no  one  ever  got  beyond  that 
point.  It  was  the  Scrap  Iron  Kid  who  first  bore 
news  of  her  coming  to  the  Wag-boys.  Knowing 
him  for  a  poet,  they  put  down  his  perfervid 
description  as  the  logical  outpouring  of  a  romantic 
spirit. 

Reddy  summed  it  up  neatly  by  saying,  "The 
Kid  has  fell  for  another  quilt,  that's  all." 

"I  'ain't  fell  for  no  frill,"  the  Kid  stoutly  de- 
clared. "I've  saw  too  many  to  lose  me  out. 
This  gal's  a  thoroughbred." 

"Another  recruit  for  Simons,  I  suppose," 
Llewellyn  yawned.  "I'll  drop  in  at  the  theater 
and  look  her  over." 

"An'  she  ain't  no  actor,  neither,"  Scrap  Iron 
declared.  "She's  goin'  to  start  a  hotel." 

"Bah!  If  she's  as  good-looking  as  you  claim, 
some  Swede  will  marry  her  before  she  can  buy  her 
dishes." 

"Sure!  They  must  all  pull  something  like  that 
to  start  with,"  said  the  Dummy,  who  was  a  woman- 
hater;  "then  when  you've  played  'em  straight 

10  137 


THE   WAG-LADY 

they  h'ist  the  pirate's  flag  and  go  to  palmin'  per- 
centage checks  in  some  dance-hall." 

But  again  the  idealistic  Scrap  Iron  Kid  came 
stubbornly  to  the  defense  of  the  new-comer;  and 
the  argument  was  growing  warm  when  Thomas- 
ville  and  the  Swede  entered  with  two  caddies  of 
tobacco  which  they  had  managed  to  acquire  dur- 
ing the  confusion  at  the  water-front,  thus  ending 
the  discussion. 

There  were  six  of  the  Wag-boys,  six  as  bold  and 
unscrupulous  gentlemen  as  the  ebb  and  swirl  of  the 
Northern  gold  rush  had  left  stranded  beneath  the 
rim  of  the  Arctic,  and  they  had  joined  forces, 
drawn  as  much,  perhaps,  by  their  common  calling 
as  by  the  facilities  thus  afforded  for  perfecting  any 
alibis  that  a  long  and  lonesome  winter  might 
render  necessary.  Nor  is  it  quite  correct  to  state 
that  they  were  stranded;  for  it  takes  more  than 
the  buffets  of  a  stormy  fate  to  strand  such  men 
as  the  Dummy  and  George  Llewellyn  and  the 
Scrap  Iron  Kid  and  their  three  companions. 

Llewellyn  was  the  gentleman  of  the  outfit,  owing 
to  the  fact  that  the  polish  of  an  early  training  had 
not  been  utterly  dulled  by  a  four  years'  trick  at 
Deer  Lodge  Penitentiary.  The  Dummy  had 
gained  his  name  from  an  admirable  self-restraint 
which  no  "third-degree"  methods  had  ever  served 
to  break;  Thomasville  was  so  called  because  of  a 
boyish  pride  in  his  Georgia  birthplace;  while 
Reddy  and  the  Swede —  But  this  is  the  story  of 
the  Wag-lady,  and  we  digress. 

138 


THE    WAG-LADY 

To  begin  with,  June  was  young,  with  a  spring- 
time flush  in  her  cheeks,  and  eyes  as  clear  as 
glacier  pools.  Yet  with  all  her  youth  and  beauty, 
she  possessed  a  poise  that  held  men  at  a  distance. 
She  also  had  a  certain  fearlessness  that  came, 
perhaps,  from  worldly  innocence  and  was  far  more 
effective  than  the  customary  brazenness  of  frontier 
women.  She  went  ahead  with  her  business,  ask- 
ing neither  advice  nor  assistance,  and,  almost 
before  the  Wag-boys  knew  what  she  was  up  to, 
she  had  leased  the  P.  C.  Warehouse  near  their 
cabin  and  had  carpenters  changing  it  into  a  bunk- 
house. 

In  a  week  it  was  open  for  business ;  on  the  second 
night  after  it  was  full.  Then  she  built  a  tiny 
cabin  near  her  "hotel,"  and  proceeded  to  keep 
house  for  herself,  sleeping  daytimes  and  working 
nights. 

"Say,  she's  coinin'  money!"  the  Scrap  Iron  Kid 
advised  his  companions  some  time  later.  "She's 
got  fifty  bunks  at  a  dollar  apiece,  and  each  one  is 
full  of  Swede.  You'd  ought  'o  drift  by  in  business 
hours — it  sounds  like  a  sawmill." 

"If  she's  getting  the  money  so  fast,  why  don't 
you  grab  her,  Kid?"  inquired  Llewellyn. 

"You  cut  that  out !"  snapped  the  former  speaker. 
"There  ain't  nobody  going  to  grab  that  dame. 
I'd  croak  any  guy  that  made  a  crack  at  her,  and 
that  goes!" 

Seeing  a  familiar  light  smoldering  in  the  Kid's 
eyes,  Llewellyn  desisted  from  further  comment, 


THE   WAG-LADY 

but  he  made  up  his  mind  to  become  acquainted 
with  June  at  once. 

Now,  while  he  succeeded,  it  was  in  quite  an  un- 
expected manner;  for  before  he  had  formulated 
any  plan  Thomasville  came  to  him  with  a  propo- 
sition that  drove  all  thoughts  of  women  from  his 
mind  and  sent  them  both  out  to  the  mines  shortly 
after  dark,  each  provided  with  a  six-shooter  and 
a  bandana  handkerchief  with  eyeholes  cut  in  it. 

Jane  had  returned  to  her  cabin  the  following 
morning,  and  was  preparing  for  bed,  when  she 
heard  a  faltering  footstep  outside.  She  glanced 
down  at  her  money-sack  filled  with  the  night's 
receipts  of  her  hotel,  then  at  the  fastenings  of  her 
door.  She  knew  that  law  was  but  a  pretense  and 
order  a  mockery  in  the  camp,  but  the  next  instant 
she  slid  back  the  bolt  and  let  in  a  flood  of  morning 
sunlight. 

There,  leaning  against  her  wall,  was  a  tall,  dark 
young  man  whose  head  was  hanging  loosely  and 
rolling  from  side  to  side.  His  hair  beneath  the 
gray  Stetson  was  wet,  his  boots  were  sodden  and 
muddy,  one  arm  was  thrust  limply  into  the  front 
of  his  coat  as  if  paralyzed.  She  saw  that  the 
sleeve  was  caked  with  blood.  Even  as  she  spoke 
he  sagged  forward  and  slid  down  at  her  feet. 

She  was  not  the  sort  to  run  for  help,  and  so, 
taking  him  under  the  armpits,  she  had  him  on  her 
bed  and  his  sleeve  cut  away  before  he  opened  his 
eyes.  It  was  but  an  instant's  work  to  heat  a  basin 
of  water;  then  she  fell  to  bathing  the  wound. 

140 


THE   WAG-LADY 

When  she  drew  forth  the  shreds  of  cloth  that  had 
been  taken  into  the  flesh  by  the  bullet,  the  man's 
face  grew  ghastly  and  she  heard  his  teeth  grind, 
but  he  made  no  other  sound. 

"That  hurt,  didn't  it?"  she  smiled  at  him,  and 
he  tried  to  smile  back.  "How  did  it  happen?" 
she  queried. 

"Accident." 

"You  have  come  a  long  way?" 

He  nodded. 

"Why  didn't  you  ask  for  help?" 

"It — wasn't  worth  while." 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  admiring  his 
gameness;  then  was  surprised  to  hear  him  say: 

"So  you're  June!" 

"Yes." 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  lay  still  while  she  poured 
some  brandy  for  him;  then  he  said: 

"Please  don't  bother.     I  must  be  going." 

"Not  till  you've  eaten  something."  She  laid  a 
soft,  cool  palm  upon  his  forehead  when  he  en- 
deavored to  rise,  and  he  dropped  back  again, 
watching  her  curiously. 

He  had  barely  finished  eating  when  another 
footstep  sounded  outside  and  a  heavy  knock 
followed. 

' '  Hey,  June !' '  called  a  voice.     ' '  Are  you  up  ?" 

It  was  Jim  Devlin,  the  marshal,  and  the  girl 
rose,  only  to  stop  at  the  look  she  saw  in  the 
wounded  man's  face.  His  dark  eyes  had  widened; 
desperation  haunted  them. 

141 


THE   WAG-LADY 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Devlin?"  she  answered. 

"Have  you  seen  anything  of  a  wounded  man 
within  the  last  half -hour?" 

She  flashed  another  glance  at  her  guest,  to  find 
him  staring  at  her  defiantly,  but  there  was  no 
appeal  in  his  face.  "What  in  the  world  do  you 
mean?" 

"There  was  a  hold-up  at  Anvil  Creek,  and  some 
shooting.  We're  pretty  sure  one  of  the  gang  was 
hit,  but  he  got  away.  Pete,  the  waterman,  says 
he  saw  a  sick-looking  fellow  crossing  the  tundra 
in  this  direction.  I  thought  you  might  have 
noticed  him." 

Again  June's  eyes  flew  back  to  the  pale  face  of 
the  stranger.  He  had  risen  now  and,  seeing  the 
frank  inquiry  in  her  gaze,  he  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders and  turned  his  good  hand  palm  upward  as  if 
in  surrender,  whereupon  she  answered  the  marshal : 

"I'm  sorry  you  can't  come  in,  Mr.  Devlin;  but 
I'm  just  going  to  bed." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  I'll  take  a  look  through 
your  bunk-house.  Sorry  to  disturb  you." 

When  the  footsteps  had  died  away  the  stranger 
moistened  his  lips  and  asked,  "Why  did  you  do 
that?" 

"I  don't  know.  You  are  brave,  and  brave 
men  aren't  bad.  Besides,  I  couldn't  bear  to  send 
any  person  out  of  God's  sunshine  into  the  dark. 
You  see,  I  don't  believe  in  prisons." 

When  Llewellyn  told  the  other  Wag-boys  of 
June's  part  in  his  escape  his  story  was  met  with 

142 


THE    WAG-LADY 

exclamations  that  would  have  pleased  her  to  hear, 
but  the  Scrap  Iron  Kid  broke  in  to  say,  mena- 
cingly : 

"Look  here,  George,  don't  aim  to  take  no  ad- 
vantage of  what  she  done  for  you  when  you  was 
hurt,  or  I'll  tip  her  off!" 

"Aw,  rats!"  cried  Llewellyn,  furiously.  "What 
do  you  take  me  for?"  Then,  staring  coldly  at  the 
Kid,  he  said,  "And  it  won't  do  her  any  good  to 
have  you  hanging  around,  either." 

June's  action  toward  Llewellyn,  and  her  mode 
of  life,  gained  the  admiration  and  respect  of  the 
Wag-boys,  and  although  they  avoided  her  care- 
fully, they  watched  over  her  from  a  distance.  Nor 
was  it  long  before  they  found  a  means  of  serving 
her,  although  she  did  not  hear  of  it  for  many 
months. 

The  Dummy  came  home  one  night  to  inform  his 
partners  that  Sammy  Steinberg,  who  owned  the 
Miners'  Rest,  was  boasting  of  his  conquest  of 
June,  whereupon  Sammy  was  notified  by  Llewel- 
lyn, acting  as  a  committee  of  one,  that  his  lies 
must  cease.  Sammy  got  a  little  drunk  a  few 
nights  later  and  boasted  again,  with  the  result 
that  the  Scrap  Iron  Kid,  who  was  playing  black- 
jack, promptly  floored  him  with  a  clout  of  his  .45, 
and  the  Swede  who  was  standing  near  by  kicked 
the  prostrate  Steinberg  in  the  most  conspicuous 
part  of  his  green-and-purple  waistcoat,  thereby 
loosening  a  rib. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  sporting  element  of 


THE    WAG-LADY 

the  camp  learned  to  treat  June  with  the  highest 
courtesy,  and,  since  she  had  been  adopted  in  a 
measure  by  the  Wag-boys,  she  became  known  as 
the  Wag-lady. 

Meanwhile  June  was  prospering.  The  homeless 
men  who  patronized  her  place  began  to  intrust 
their  gold-sacks  to  her  care ;  so  she  went  to  Harry 
Hope,  the  P.  C.  agent,  and  bought  a  safe  in  which 
to  deposit  her  lodgers'  valuables.  Frequently 
thereafter  she  sat  guard  all  night  over  considerable 
sums  of  money  while  the  owners  snored  peacefully 
in  the  big  back  room. 

When  winter  closed  down  June  began  to  see 
more  and  more  of  Harry  Hope.  And  she  began  to 
like  him,  too;  for  he  was  the  sort  to  win  women's 
hearts,  being  big  and  boyish  and  full  of  merriment. 
He  had  spent  several  years  in  the  Northland,  and 
its  winds  had  blown  from  him  many  of  the  city- 
born  traits,  leaving  him  unaffected,  impulsive, 
and  hearty.  While  the  frontier  takes  away  some 
evil  qualities  it  also  takes  some  good  ones,  and 
Harry  Hope  was  not  by  any  means  a  saint.  As 
the  nights  grew  longer  he  gained  the  habit  of 
dropping  in  to  talk  with  June  on  his  way  up- town. 
One  evening  he  paused  before  leaving  and  asked: 

"Can  you  take  care  of  something  for  me, 
June?" 

"Of  course,"  she  answered. 

He  flung  a  leather  wallet  into  her  lap,  laughing. 
"You're  the  banker  for  the  community;  so  lock 
that  up  overnight,  if  you  please." 

144 


THE    WAG-LADY 

"Oh-h!"  she  gasped.  "There  are  thousands  of 
dollars!  I'd  rather  not." 

"Come!  you  must!  I  didn't  get  it  in  time  to 
put  it  in  the  company's  safe,  and  if  I  carry  it 
around  somebody  will  frisk  me." 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"Down  to  Steinberg's.  I'm  going  to  outguess 
his  faro  -  dealer.  This  is  my  lucky  night,  you 
know." 

Realizing  full  well  the  lawlessness  of  the  camp, 
June  felt  a  bit  nervous  as  she  laid  the  money  away. 
In  the  course  of  the  evening,  however,  she  gradu- 
ally lost  her  fears. 

Some  time  after  midnight,  when  the  big  front 
room  of  the  bunk-house  was  empty,  the  outside 
door  opened,  admitting  a  billow  of  frost  out  of 
which  emerged  two  men.  They  were  strangers 
to  June,  and  when  she  asked  them  if  they  wished 
beds  they  said  "No."  They  backed  up  to  the 
stove  and  began  staring  at  their  surroundings 
curiously. 

It  had  never  been  June's  practice  to  forbid  any 
man  the  comfort  of  her  coal-burner,  even  though 
he  lacked  the  price  for  a  bed,  but,  remembering 
the  money  in  her  safe,  she  sharply  ordered  these 
two  out. 

Neither  man  stirred.  They  blinked  at  her  in  a 
manner  that  sent  little  spasms  of  nervousness  up 
her  spine. 

"I  tell  you  it's  too  late — you  can't  stay!" 

"That's  too  bad,"  said  one  of  them.  He 
145 


THE    WAG-LADY 

crossed  toward  the  desk  behind  which  she  sat,  at 
which  she  softly  closed  the  heavy  safe  door.  It 
gave  out  a  metallic  click,  however,  which  caused 
the  fellow's  eyes  to  gleam. 

"That  safe  ain't  locked,  eh?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  she  lied. 

He  smiled  as  if  to  put  her  at  her  ease,  but  it  was 
an  evil  leer  and  set  her  heart  to  pounding  violent- 
ly. She  was  tempted  to  cry  out  and  arouse  her 
lodgers,  but  merely  flung  back  the  fellow's  glance 
defiantly. 

The  stranger  ran  his  eye  over  the  place  and  then 
said,  "I  guess  we'll  set  awhile."  Drawing  a  chair 
up  beside  the  door,  he  motioned  to  his  partner 
to  do  the  same.  They  tilted  back  at  their  ease, 
and  June  fancied  they  were  listening  intently. 
For  a  half -hour,  an  hour,  they  sat  there,  following 
her  every  movement,  now  and  then  exchanging  a 
word  in  a  tone  too  low  for  her  to  hear. 

She  was  well-nigh  hysterical  with  the  strain 
of  waiting,  when  she  saw  both  men  lower  the  front 
legs  of  their  chairs  and  rise  together.  The  next 
instant  the  door  swung  violently  yet  noiselessly 
inward  and  a  masked  man  with  a  gun  in  his  hand 
leaped  out  of  the  night.  Another  man  was  at 
his  heels,  and  they  covered  her  simultaneously. 
Then  a  most  amazing  thing  occurred. 

June's  mysterious  visitors  pounced  upon  them 
from  behind,  there  was  a  brief,  breathless  struggle, 
and  the  next  instant  all  four  swept  out  into  the 
snow  amid  a  tangle  of  arms  and  legs.  Followed 

146 


THE    WAG-LADY 

the  sounds  of  a  furious  scuffle,  of  heavy  blows, 
curses  and  groans,  then  a  voice: 

"Beat  it  now  or  we'll  croak  the  two  of  you! 
And  peddle  the  word  that  no  rough  stuff  goes  here. 
Do  you  get  that?"  There  was  the  impact  of  a 
boot  planted  against  flesh,  and  the  next  instant 
June's  deliverers  had  re-entered  and  closed  the 
door. 

One  of  them  was  sucking  a  wound  in  the  fleshy 
part  of  his  hand  where  a  falling  revolver  hammer 
had  punched  him,  but  he  inquired  in  a  thoroughly 
business-like  tone,  "Got  a  little  hot  water,  June?" 

June  emerged  weakly  from  behind  her  desk. 
"W-what  does  it  all — mean?" 

"Oh,  it's  all  right.  They  won't  trouble  you  no 
more." 

"They  came  to — rob  me,  and  you  knew  it — 

"Sure!  Harry  Hope  got  full  and  told  about 
leaving  eight  thousand  dollars  with  you;  so  we 
beat  'em  to  it." 

"But  why  didn't  you  say  so?  You  frightened 
me." 

"We  wasn't  sure  they'd  try  it,  and  we  didn't 
like  to  work  you  up." 

"Please — who  are  you?" 

"Us?  Why,  we're  Wag-boys !  Llewellyn's  our 
pal.  I'm  Charley  Fitzhugh;  they  call  me  the 
Dummy.  And  this  is  Thomasville." 

Thomasville  nodded  and  mumbled  greetings 
without  removing  his  thumb  from  his  mouth, 
whereupon  June  began  to  express  her  gratitude. 

i47 


THE    WAG-LADY 

But  thanks  threw  the  Wag-boys  into  confusion, 
it  seemed,  and  they  quickly  bade  her  an  embar- 
rassed good  night. 

Now  that  they  had  removed  the  weight  of 
obligation  that  had  rested  upon  them,  the  Wags 
became  more  neighborly.  Llewellyn  and  the 
Scrap  Iron  Kid  called  to  explain  that  the  Dummy 
and  Thomasville  had  broken  all  rules  of  friend- 
ship by  "hogging  the  spotlight"  and  to  express 
their  own  regret  at  having  been  absent  during  the 
attempted  hold-up. 

June  was  eating  her  midnight  lunch  when  they 
came,  and  after  they  had  left  Llewellyn  said: 

"She  didn't  have  any  butter,  Kid.     Notice  it?" 

"Sure.  Butter's  peluk.  Rothstein  cornered 
the  supply,  and  he's  holding  it  for  a  raise." 

"Where  does  he  keep  it?" 

"In  that  big  tent  back  of  his  store,  along  with 
his  other  stuff." 

Now,  the  Wag-boys  did  nothing  by  halves. 
About  dusk  the  following  day  the  Rothstein 
watchman  was  accosted  by  a  stranger  who  had 
just  muched  in  from  the  creek.  The  two  gos- 
siped for  a  moment.  Then,  as  the  stranger  made 
off,  he  slipped  and  fell,  injuring  himself  so  pain- 
fully that  the  watchman  was  forced  to  help  him 
down  to  Kelly's  drug-store.  Upon  returning  from 
this  labor  of  charity  the  watchman  discovered,  to 
his  amazement  and  horror,  that  during  his  absence 
two  men  had  entered  the  tent  by  means  of  a  six- 
foot  slit  in  the  rear  wall.  They  had  brought  a 

148 


THE   WAG-LADY 

sled  with  them,  moreover,  and  had  made  off  with 
about  five  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  Rothstein's 
heart's  blood,  labeled  "Cold  Brook  Creamery, 
Extra  Fine." 

The  next  morning  when  June  returned  to  her 
cabin  she  found  a  case  of  butter. 

A  few  days  later  the  Dummy  discovered  a 
string  of  ptarmigan  hanging  beside  the  rear  door  of 
a  restaurant,  and,  desiring  to  offer  June  some 
delicate  little  attention,  he  returned  after  dark 
and  removed  them.  As  ptarmigan  were  selling  at 
five  dollars  a  brace,  he  was  careful  to  protect  the 
girl;  he  sat  on  the  back  steps  of  the  restaurant 
and  picked  the  birds  thoroughly,  scattering  the 
feathers  with  a  careless  hand. 

Scarcely  a  day  passed  that  June  did  not  receive 
something  from  the  Wags,  but  of  course  she  never 
dreamed  that  her  gifts  had  been  stolen.  As  for 
her  admirers,  it  was  the  highest  mark  of  their 
esteem  thus  to  lay  at  her  feet  the  choicest  fruits 
of  their  precarious  labors,  and,  although  they 
were  common  thieves — nay,  worse  than  that — 
they  stole  rather  from  love  of  excitement  than  for 
hope  of  gain,  and  the  more  fantastic  the  adventure 
the  more  it  tickled  their  distorted  fancies. 

They  were  most  amusing,  and  June  grew  to 
like  them  immensely.  She  began  to  mother  them 
in  the  way  that  pleases  all  women.  She  ruled 
them  like  a  family  of  wayward  children,  she  set- 
tled their  disputes,  and  they  submitted  with  sub- 
dued, though  extravagant,  joy.  She  asked  Llewel- 

149 


THE    WAG-LADY 

lyn  once  about  that  wound  in  his  arm,  but  he  lied 
fluently,  and  she  believed  him,  for  she  was  not  the 
kind  to  credit  evil  of  her  friends. 

Once  they  had  received  encouragement,  they 
fairly  monopolized  her.  She  was  never  safe  from 
interruption,  for  the  Wag-boys  never  slept.  They 
came  to  her  cabin  singly  and  collectively  at  all 
hours  of  day  or  night,  during  her  absence  or  during 
her  presence,  and  they  never  failed  to  leave  some- 
thing behind  them. 

Reddy  was  a  good  cook,  but  he  loathed  a  stove 
as  he  loathed  a  policeman,  yet  he  donned  an  apron, 
and  at  the  cost  of  much  profanity  and  sweat  pro- 
duced a  chocolate  cake  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  a  New  England  housewife.  Further- 
more, it  bore  June's  name  in  a  beautiful  scroll 
surrounded  by  a  chocolate  wreath,  and  she  found  it 
on  her  bed  when  she  came  home  one  morning. 

Chancing  to  express  a  liking  for  oysters  in  the 
hearing  of  the  Scrap  Iron  Kid,  she  mysteriously  re- 
ceived a  whole  case  of  them  when  she  knew  very 
well  that  there  were  none  in  camp.  Of  course  she 
did  not  dream  that  in  securing  them  the  Kid  had 
put  his  person  in  deadly  peril. 

On  returning  from  her  duties  at  another  time 
she  found  that  during  the  night  the  interior  walls 
of  her  cabin  had  been  painted,  and,  although  she 
did  not  want  them  painted  and  although  the 
smell  gave  her  a  violent  headache,  she  pretended 
to  be  overcome  with  delight.  In  order  to  beautify 
her  little  nest  Reddy  had  burgled  a  store  and 

150 


THE    WAG-LADY 

stolen  all  the  paint  there  was  of  the  particular 
shade  that  pleased  his  eye. 

Now,  the  Wag-boys  pretended  to  be  care-free 
and  happy  as  time  went  on.  In  reality  they  were 
gnawed  by  a  secret  trouble — it  was  June's  grow- 
ing fondness  for  Harry  Hope.  After  careful  ob- 
servation they  decided  that  the  P.  C.  agent  would 
not  do  at  all;  he  was  too  wild.  He  had  undeni- 
ably lost  his  head  and  was  gambling  heavily, 
tempted  perhaps  by  the  lax  morality  of  the  camp 
and  the  license  of  good  times. 

It  was  the  Dummy  who  finally  proposed  a  means 
of  safeguarding  June's  wandering  affections. 

"Somebody's  got  to  split  her  away  from  this 
Hope,"  he  declared.  "It's  up  to  us,  and  Llewel- 
lyn's the  only  one  in  her  class." 

The  Scrap  Iron  Kid's  face  assumed  an  ugly 
yellow  cast  as  he  inquired,  quietly,  "D'you  mean 
George  is  to  marry  her?" 

"Hardly!"  exploded  the  Dummy.  "Just  toll 
her  away." 

"Why  shouldn't  I  marry  her?"  Llewellyn  de- 
manded. 

"I  can  think  of  five  reasons,"  the  Kid  retorted. 
He  tapped  his  chest  with  his  finger.  "Here's  one, 
and  there's  the  other  four."  He  pointed  to  the 
other  Wag-boys.  "D'you  think  we'd  let  you 
marry  her ?  Huh !  I'd  sooner  marry  her  myself. ' ' 

Llewellyn  ended  the  discussion  by  stamping  out 
of  the  cabin,  cursing  his  partners  with  violence. 

Business  of  the  P.  C.   Company  took  Harry 


THE   WAG-LADY 

Hope  to  Council  City  in  February;  so  the  Wags 
felt  easier — but  only  for  a  time.  They  found  that 
June  was  grieving  for  him,  and  were  plunged  into 
deep  despair  until  Scrap  Iron  came  home  with  the 
explanation  that  the  lovers  had  quarreled  before 
parting.  It  was  a  signal  for  a  celebration  during 
which  Reddy  cooked  wildly  for  a  week,  making 
puddings  and  pies  and  pastries,  most  of  which 
were  smuggled  into  June's  cabin.  Thomasville 
journeyed  out  to  a  certain  roadhouse  run  by  a 
Frenchman,  and  returned  with  a  case  of  eggs 
wrapped  up  in  a  woolen  comforter.  It  required 
the  combined  perjury  of  the  other  Wags  to  prove 
an  alibi  for  him,  but  June  had  an  omelet  every 
morning  thereafter. 

Then,  just  as  they  were  weaning  her  away,  as 
they  thought,  the  blow  fell.  It  came  with  a  crush- 
ing force  that  left  them  dumb  and  panic-stricken. 
June  took  pneumonia!  The  Scrap  Iron  Kid 
brought  the  first  news  of  her  illness,  and  he  blub- 
bered like  a  baby,  while  Dummy,  the  woman- 
hater,  cursed  like  a  man  bereft. 

"How  d'you  know  it's  pneumonia?"  queried 
Thomasville. 

"The  doc  says  so.  Me  'n'  George  dropped  in 
with  some  beefsteaks  we  copped  from  the  butcher, 
and  found  her  in  bed,  coughing  like  the  devil. 
She  couldn't  get  up — pains  in  her  boosum.  We 
run  for  Doc  Whiting  and  —  fellers,  it's  true! 
George  is  there  now."  The  Kid  swallowed 
bravely,  and  two  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

152 


THE    WAG-LADY 

The  Wag-boys  broke  out  of  their  cabin  on  the 
run,  then  strung  out  down  the  snow-banked  street 
toward  June's  cabin,  where  they  found  Dr.  Whi- 
ting, very  grave,  and  Llewellyn  with  his  face 
blanched  and  his  lips  tight  drawn.  They  tiptoed 
in  and  stood  against  the  wall  in  a  silent,  stricken 
row,  twirling  their  caps  and  trying  to  ease  the 
pain  in  their  throats. 

The  Wag-lady  was  indeed  very  ill.  Her  yellow 
hair  was  tumbled  over  her  pillow  and  she  was  in 
great  pain,  but  she  smiled  at  them  and  made  a 
feeble  jest — which  broke  in  her  throat,  for  she  was 
young  and  all  alone  and  very  badly  frightened. 
It  was  too  much  for  the  Scrap  Iron  Kid,  who 
stumbled  out  into  the  freezing  night  and  fought 
with  his  misery.  He  tried  to  pray,  but  from  long 
inexperience  he  fancied  he  made  bad  work  of  it. 

An  hour  later  they  assembled  and  laid  plans  to 
weather  the  storm. 

"She's  worried  about  her  hotel,"  Llewellyn  an- 
nounced. "If  that  was  off  her  mind  she'd  have  a 
better  chance." 

"Let's  manage  it  for  her,"  the  Dummy  offered. 
"I'll  watch  it  to-night." 

"An*  who'll  watch  you?"  queried  the  Kid. 

"D'you  reckon  I'd  run  out  on  a  pal  like  June?" 
stormed  the  Dummy,  whereat  Scrap  Iron  assured 
him  he  was  positive  that  he  would  not,  for  the 
very  good  reason  that  he  and  Reddy  would  take 
care  that  no  opportunity  offered. 

"You  run  the  joint  like  you  say,  an'  we'll  look- 

n  iS3 


THE    WAG-LADY 

out  her  game  for  her;  then  to-morrow  night  the 
other  three  can  do  it.  We'll  take  turn  an'  turn 
about,  an'  them  that's  off  shift  will  nurse  her. 
I've  been  thinkin'  now — if  only  we  knowed  some- 
thing about  women  folks — 

"I  been  married  once  or  twice,  if  that's  any 
good,"  Thomasville  ventured  to  confess;  where- 
upon he  was  elected  head  nurse  by  virtue  of  his 
experience,  and  accordingly  they  went  to  work. 

Dr.  Whiting  had  promised  to  secure  a  woman  to 
care  for  the  sick  girl,  but  women  were  scarce  that 
winter  and  he  was  only  partly  successful,  so  the 
greater  portion  of  the  responsibility  fell  upon  the 
Wags.  He  also  spoke  of  removing  June  to  the 
excuse  for  a  hospital,  but  they  would  not  hear  to 
this.  And  so  the  battle  for  her  life  began. 

It  was  a  battle,  too,  for  she  grew  rapidly  worse 
and  soon  was  delirious,  babbling  of  strange  things 
which  tore  at  the  hearts  of  the  Wag-boys.  Day 
after  day,  night  after  night,  she  lay  racked  and 
tortured,  fighting  the  brave  fight  of  youth,  and 
through  it  all  the  six  thieves  tended  her.  They 
were  ever  at  her  side,  coming  and  going  like  the 
wraiths  of  her  distorted  fancy,  and  while  three  of 
them  divided  the  day  into  watches  the  other  three 
ran  the  bunk-house,  keeping  strict  account  of  ev- 
ery penny  taken  in.  They  O.  K.'d  one  another's 
books,  and  it  would  have  fared  badly  indeed  with 
any  one  of  them  had  he  allowed  the  least  dis- 
crepancy to  appear  in  his  reckoning. 

It  was  a  strange  scene,  this,  a  sick  and  friend- 


THE    WAG-LADY 

less  girl  mothered  by  a  gang  of  crooks.  When 
June's  condition  improved  they  rejoiced  with  a 
deep  ferocity  that  was  pitiful;  when  it  grew 
worse  they  went  about  hushed  and  terror-stricken. 
Through  it  all  she  called  incessantly  for  Harry 
Hope,  and  it  was  Llewellyn  who  finally  volunteered 
to  go  to  Council  City  and  fetch  him — an  offer  that 
showed  the  others  he  was  game. 

But  before  the  weather  had  settled  sufficiently 
to  allow  it,  Hope  came.  He  arrived  one  night  in 
a  blinding  smother  which  whined  down  over  the 
treeless  wastes,  driving  men  indoors  before  its 
fury.  Hearing  of  June's  illness,  he  had  taken  the 
trail  within  an  hour,  fighting  his  way  for  a  hundred 
trackless  miles  through  a  blizzard  that  daunted 
even  a  Wag-boy,  and  he  showed  the  marks  of 
battle.  His  face  was  bitten  deeply  by  the  cold, 
his  dogs  were  dying  in  the  harness,  and  it  was 
evident  that  he  had  not  slept  for  many  hours. 
He  whimpered  like  a  child  when  Llewellyn  met  him 
at  June's  door;  then  he  heard  her  wearily  bab- 
bling his  name,  as  she  had  done  these  many,  many 
days,  and  he  went  in,  kneeling  beside  her  with  his 
frozen  breath  still  caked  upon  his  parka  hood. 

Llewellyn  stood  by  and  heard  him  tenderly 
calling  to  the  wandering  girl,  saw  the  peace  that 
came  into  her  face  as  something  told  her  he  was 
near;  then  the  Wag-boy  who  had  once  been  a 
gentleman  came  forward  and  gave  Hope  his  hand, 
and  thanked  him  for  his  coming. 

June  began  to  mend  after  that,  and  it  was  not 
iSS 


THE    WAG-LADY 

long  before  Whiting  said  she  might  recover  if  she 
had  proper  food.  She  would,  however,  need 
nourishment — milk;  but  there  was  only  one  cow 
in  camp,  and  other  sick  people,  and  not  sufficient 
milk  to  go  round.  The  Wag-boys  lumped  their 
bank-rolls  and  offered  to  buy  the  animal  from  its 
owner,  but  he  refused.  So  they  stole  the  cow  and 
all  her  fodder. 

Now  it  is  no  difficult  matter  to  steal  a  cow,  even 
in  a  mining-camp  in  the  dead  of  winter,  but  it  is 
not  nearly  so  easy  for  a  cow  to  remain  stolen 
under  such  conditions,  and  the  Wags  were  hard  put 
to  prevent  discovery.  It  would  have  been  far 
easier,  they  realized,  to  steal  a  two-story  brick 
house  or  a  printing-office,  and  then,  too,  not  one 
of  them  knew  how  to  secure  the  milk  even  after 
they  had  gained  the  cow's  consent.  They  made 
various  experiments,  however,  one  of  which  re- 
sulted in  Reddy's  having  the  breath  rammed  out 
of  him,  and  another  causing  Thomasville  to  adopt 
crutches  for  a  day  or  so.  But  eventually  June  got 
her  milk,  a  gallon  of  it  daily.  Every  night  or  two 
the  cow  had  to  be  moved,  every  day  they  gagged 
her  to  muffle  her  voice.  Then,  when  discovery 
was  imminent,  they  made  terms  of  surrender, 
exacting  twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the  gross  output 
as  the  consideration  for  her  return. 

They  breathed  much  easier  when  the  cow  was  off 
their  hands. 

Spring  was  in  sight  when  June  became  strong 
enough  to  take  up  her  duties,  and  she  was  sur- 

156 


THE   WAG-LADY 

prised  to  find  her  hotel  running  as  usual,  also  a 
flour-sack  full  of  currency  beneath  her  bed,  to- 
gether with  a  set  of  books  showing  her  receipts.  It 
was  signed  by  Llewellyn  and  witnessed  by  the  other 
Wags.  There  was  no  record  of  disbursements. 

One  day  Whiting  advised  her  to  get  out  in  the 
air,  and  the  Scrap  Iron  Kid  volunteered  to  take 
her  for  a  dog  ride. 

"I  didn't  know  you  had  a  team,"  she  said. 

"Who?  Me?  vSure!  I  got  as  good  a  team  as 
ever  you  see,"  he  declared,  and  when  she  accepted 
his  invitation  he  proceeded  to  get  his  dogs  together 
in  a  startling  manner.  He  tied  a  soup-bone  on  a 
string  and  walked  the  back  streets;  then,  when 
he  beheld  a  likely-looking  husky,  he  dragged  the 
bone  behind  him,  enticing  the  animal  by  degrees 
to  the  Wag-boys'  cabin,  where  he  promptly  tied 
it  up.  He  repeated  the  performance  seven  times. 
The  matter  of  harness  and  sled  was  but  a  detail; 
so  June  enjoyed  a  ride  that  put  pink  roses  into  her 
cheeks  and  gave  the  Scrap  Iron  Kid  a  feeling  of 
pure,  exalted  joy  such  as  he  had  never  felt  in  all  his 
adventurous  career. 

The  day  she  walked  over  to  the  Wag  house  un- 
assisted was  one  of  such  wild  rejoicing  that  she 
was  forced  to  tell  them  shyly  of  her  own  happiness, 
a  happiness  so  new  that  as  yet  she  could  scarcely 
credit  it.  She  was  to  be  Mrs.  Harry  Hope,  and 
asked  them  to  wish  her  joy. 

Llewellyn  made  a  speech  that  evoked  the  ad- 
miration of  them  all,  even  to  the  Kid,  who  was 


THE   WAG-LADY 

miserably  jealous,  and  June  went  home  with  her 
heart  very  warm  and  tender  toward  these  six 
adventurers  who  had  been  so  true  to  her. 

It  was  to  be  expected  that  Hope  would  share  in 
his  sweetheart's  extravagant  gladness,  for  he 
loved  her  deeply,  with  all  the  force  of  his  big, 
strong  nature,  yet  he  acted  strangely  as  time  went 
on.  Now  he  was  sad  and  worried,  again  he  seemed 
tortured  by  a  lurking  disquietude  of  spirit.  This 
alarmed  the  Wag-lady,  and  she  set  out  to  find  the 
secret  of  his  trouble. 

The  ice  was  breaking  when  he  made  a  clean 
breast  of  it,  and  when  he  had  finished  June  felt 
that  her  heart  was  breaking  also.  It  was  the 
commonplace  story  of  a  young  man  tempted  be- 
yond his  strength.  Hope's  popularity  had  made 
him  a  host  of  friends,  while  his  generosity  had 
made  "no"  a  difficult  answer.  He  had  plunged 
into  excesses  during  the  early  winter;  gambled 
wildly,  not  to  win,  but  for  the  fun  of  it.  He  had 
lost  company  money,  trusting  to  his  ability  to 
make  it  good  from  his  own  pocket  when  the  time 
came.  The  time  was  coming,  and  his  pockets 
were  empty.  Spring  was  here,  the  first  boats 
would  arrive  any  day,  and  with  them  would  come 
the  P.  C.  men  to  audit  his  accounts.  It  was  pos- 
sible to  cover  it  up,  to  be  sure,  but  he  scorned  to 
falsify  his  books. 

"I  should  have  stayed  in  Council  City,"  he 
said,  "but  when  I  heard  you  were — sick — "  He 
buried  his  brown  face  in  his  hands. 

158 


THE    WAG-LADY 

The  girl's  lips  were  white  as  she  asked,  "How 
much  is  it?" 

"Nearly  twenty  thousand." 

She  shook  her  head  hopelessly.  "I  haven't 
nearly  that  much,  Harry,  but  perhaps  they  would 
let  us  pay  off  the  balance  as  we  are  able." 

"June!"  he  cried.  "I  wouldn't  let  you!  I'll 
go  to  jail  first!  I — I  suppose  you  won't  want  to 
marry  me,  now  that  you  know?" 

' '  I  love  you  more  than  twenty  thousand  dollars' 
worth,"  she  replied.  "We'll  face  it  out  together." 

"If  only  I  had  time  I  could  pay  it  back  and 
they'd  never  know,  for  I  have  property  that  will 
sell,  once  the  season  opens." 

"Then  you  must  take  time." 

"I  can't.     Sternberg  will  tell." 

"What  has  Sternberg  to  do  with  it?" 

"I  lost  the  money  in  his  place — his  books  will 
show.  He  suspects,  even  now,  and  he's  talking 
about  it.  He  doesn't  like  me,  you  know,  since  he 
heard  of  our  engagement." 

The  days  fled  swiftly  by ;  the  hills  thrust  their 
scarred  sides  up  through  the  melting  snow;  the 
open  sea  showed  black  beyond  the  rim  of  anchor 
ice.  As  nature  awoke  and  blossomed,  June  faded 
and  shrank  until  she  was  no  more  than  the  ghost 
of  her  former  self.  Then  one  day  smoke  was  re- 
ported upon  the  horizon,  and  the  town  became  a 
bedlam;  for  the  door  of  the  frozen  North  was 
creaking  on  its  hinges,  and  just  beyond  lay  the 
good,  glad  world  of  men  and  things. 


THE    WAG-LADY 

June  could  stand  it  no  longer;  so  she  told  her 
sorrow  to  Llewellyn,  who  had  half  guessed  it,  any- 
how, and  he  in  turn  retold  it  to  his  fellow- Wags. 

The  Scrap  Iron  Kid  was  for  killing  Hope  at 
once,  and  argued  that  it  was  by  far  the  simplest 
way  out  of  June's  trouble,  carrying  with  it  also  an 
agreeable  element  of  retribution.  Hope  had  hurt 
the  Wag-lady,  therefore  the  least  atonement  he 
could  offer  was  his  blood.  But  Dummy,  the  foxy 
old  alibi  man  of  the  outfit,  said : 

"I've  got  a  better  scheme.  Hope  wants  to  do 
the  right  thing,  and  June  '11  make  him  if  she  has  a 
chance.  The  company  will  get  its  coin,  she'll  get 
her  square  guy,  an'  nobody  '11  be  hurt,  provided  he 
has  time  to  swing  himself.  The  ace  in  the  hole  is 
Sammy  Sternberg;  he's  got  the  books.  Now 
what's  the  answer?" 

"Steal  the  books!"  chorused  the  Wags;  and 
Dummy  smiled. 

"Why,  sure." 

"You  can't  stick  up  no  saloon  full  of  rough- 
necks and  sleepers,"  said  Scrap  Iron.  "Sammy 
caches  his  books  in  the  safe  when  he's  off  shift, 
and  we  can't  blow  the  safe,  'cause  the  joint  never 
closes." 

But  the  Dummy  only  grinned,  for  this  was  the 
sort  of  job  he  liked,  and  then  he  proceeded  to 
make  known  his  plan. 

Those  were  terrible  hours  for  June.  She  prayed 
with  all  the  earnestness  of  her  earnest  being  that 
her  lover  might  be  spared ;  repeatedly  she  strained 

1 60 


THE    WAG-LADY 

her  tear-filled  eyes  to  the  southward.  As  for 
Hope,  he  had  tasted  the  consequences  of  his  guilt, 
and  his  face  grew  lined  and  haggard  with  the 
strain  of  waiting.  He  could  have  met  the  future 
with  some  show  of  resignation  had  it  not  been  for 
the  knowledge  of  his  sweetheart's  suffering;  but 
as  the  hours  passed  and  that  thin  black  line  of  soot 
still  hung  upon  the  horizon,  he  thought  he  would 
go  mad. 

On  the  second  day  a  steamer  showed,  hull  down, 
having  wormed  her  way  through  the  floes,  and 
Nome  marched  out  upon  the  shore  ice  in  a  body. 

June  and  Harry  went  with  the  others,  hand  in 
hand,  and  the  man  walked  as  if  he  were  marching 
to  the  gallows.  It  was  not  the  P.  C.  steamer, 
after  all ;  it  was  the  whaler  Jeanie.  The  fleet  was 
in  the  offing,  however,  so  she  reported,  and  would 
be  in  within  another  twenty-four  hours,  if  the  pack 
kept  drifting. 

Hope  ground  his  teeth,  and  muttered:  Poor 
little  June!  I  wish  it  were  over  for  your  sake!" 
and  she  nodded  wearily. 

But  as  they  neared  the  shore  again  they  heard 
rumors  of  strange  doings  in  their  absence.  There 
had  been  a  daring  daylight  hold-up  at  the  Miners' 
Rest.  Six  masked  men  had  taken  advantage  of 
the  exodus  to  enter  and  clean  out  the  place  at 
the  point  of  the  gun,  and  now  Sammy  Sternberg 
was  poisoning  the  air  with  his  complaints. 

Details  came  flying  faster  as  they  trudged  up 
into  Front  Street,  and  Doc  Whiting  paused  to  say: 

161 


THE   WAG-LADY 

"That's  the  nerviest  thing  yet,  eh,  Harry?" 

' '  Was  anybody  hurt  ? ' ' 

"No  damage  done  except  to  Sammy's  feel- 
ings." 

"They  surely  didn't  get  much  money?" 

' '  Oh,  no !  Their  total  clean-up  wasn't  a  hundred 
dollars;  but  they  lugged  off  Sammy's  books." 

June  felt  herself  falling,  and  grasped  weakly  at 
her  lover's  arm,  for  she  saw  it  all.  "Come!"  she 
said,  and  dragged  him  up  to  her  own  cabin,  then 
on  to  the  Wag-boys'  door.  They  were  all  there, 
sprawled  about  and  smoking. 

"You  did  this!"  she  said,  shakingly.  "You  did 
it  for  me!" 

"Did  what?"  they  asked  in  chorus,  looking  at 
her  blankly. 

"Oh,  we  know,"  said  Harry  Hope.  "You've 
given  me  a  chance — and  I'll  make  good!"  His 
own  voice  sounded  strange  in  his  ears. 

There  was  an  instant's  awkward  pause,  and  then 
the  Scrap  Iron  Kid  said,  simply,  "You'd  better!" 
and  the  others  nodded. 

Llewellyn  spoke  up,  saying,  "Reddy  is  our 
regular  chef;  but  I'd  like  to  have  you  see  me  cook 
a  goose."  Then  he  drew  from  his  inside  pocket 
what  seemed  to  be  a  leaf  torn  from  a  ledger,  and, 
unfolding  it,  he  struck  a  match,  then  lighted  it. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  a  man  and  face  the 
music,"  Hope  managed  to  stutter,  "but  I'm  going 
to  cheat  the  ends  of  justice  for  June's  sake.  I'm 
much  obliged  to  you." 

162 


THE   WAG-LADY 

When  they  had  gone  off,  hand  in  hand,  the  Scrap 
Iron  Kid  nodded  approvingly  to  George,  saying, 
"That  was  sure  some  cookin'  you  did,  pal." 

And  Llewellyn  answered,  "Yes,  I  cooked  your 
goose  and  mine,  but  she'll  be  happy,  anyhow." 


"MAN    PROPOSES—' 


"MAN    PROPOSES—" 
THE  STORY  OF  A  MAN  WHO  WANTED  TO  DIE 


'"THERE  were  seventeen  policies  in  all  and  they 
A  aggregated  an  even  million  dollars.  It 
thrilled  Butler  Murray  to  note  his  own  name 
neatly  typed  upon  the  outside  of  each.  Those 
papers  possessed  a  remarkable  fascination  for  him, 
not  only  because  they  meant  the  settlement  of  his 
debt  to  Muriel,  but  because  his  life,  instead  of 
being  the  wholly  useless  thing  he  had  come  to 
regard  it,  was  really,  by  virtue  of  those  docu- 
ments, a  valuable  asset  upon  which  he  could 
realize  at  once. 

One  million  dollars  was  a  great  deal  of  money, 
even  to  Butler  Murray,  and  yet  it  was  so  easy! 
Why,  it  was  even  easier  to  make  that  amount  than 
it  had  been  to  spend  it!  Although  the  former 
process  might  not  prove  so  amusing,  it  at  least  of- 
fered a  degree  of  interest  wholly  lacking  in  the 
latter. 

When    DeVoe   entered,    Murray   greeted   him 
167 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  ' 

warmly.  "I'm  glad  I  caught  you,  Henry.  They 
told  me  you've  been  out  West  somewhere." 

"Yes,  I'm  promoting,  you  know — mines!" 
DeVoe  flung  off  his  fur  coat  and  settled  into  an 
easy-chair. 

"Getting  along  all  right?" 

"No.  My  friends  either  know  too  little  about 
mines  or  too  much  about  me.  I've  a  good  propo- 
sition, though,  and  if  I  could  ever  get  started,  I'd 
clean  up  a  million." 

"It's  not  so  hard  to  make  a  million  dollars." 

"How  the  deuce  do  you  know?  You've  never 
had  to  try.  By  the  way,  why  are  you  living  here 
at  the  club?  Where  is  Mrs.  Murray?" 

"She  is  at  the  farm  with  the  children.  We  have 
— separated." 

"No!  Jove!  I'm  sorry.  What  does  it  mean 
— the  road  to  Reno?" 

"I  hardly  think  she  will  divorce  me,  on  account 
of  the  publicity;  although  she  ought  to." 

"Woman  scrape,  I  suppose." 

"No,  nothing  like  that.  I've  spent  all  her 
money." 

DeVoe  opened  his  eyes  in  amazement.  "Oh, 
see  here  now,  you  couldn't  spend  it  all!  Why, 
she  had  even  more  than  you!" 

"It's  all  gone — hers  and  mine." 

"Good  Lord!" 

"Yes.  I  was  always  extravagant,  but  I've  been 
speculating  lately.  I  thought  I'd  get  a  sensation 
either  way  the  market  went,  but  I  was  disap- 

168 


"MAN    PROPOSES  — " 

pointed.  I  dare  say  I  have  exhausted  my  capa- 
bilities for  excitement.  It's  a  long  story,  and 
I  won't  bore  you  with  it,  but,  to  be  exact, 
all  I  have  left  is  the  town  house  and  the  farm 
and  the  place  in  Virginia.  There  isn't  enough 
income,  however,  to  keep  any  one  of  them 
going." 

"Well,  well!  You  have  been  stepping  along. 
Why,  it's  inconceivable!"  DeVoe  stirred  un- 
easily in  his  chair.  The  calm  indifference  of  this 
broad-shouldered,  immaculate  fellow  amazed  him. 
He  could  not  tell  whether  it  was  genuine  or  as- 
sumed, and  in  either  event  he  was  sorry  he  had 
come,  for  he  did  not  like  to  hear  tales  of  mis- 
fortune. Butler  Murray,  the  millionaire,  was  a 
good  man  to  know,  but — 

"I  sent  for  you  because  I  need — " 

"See  here,  Butler,"  the  younger  man  broke  in, 
abruptly,  "you  know  I  can't  lend.  I'm  borrow- 
ing myself.  In  fact,  I  was  going  to  make  a  touch 
on  you." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  your  money;  I  want  your 
help.  I  think,  perhaps,  I'm  entitled  to  it,  eh?" 

Henry  flushed  a  trifle.  "You're  welcome  to 
that  at  all  times,  of  course,  and  if  I  had  a  bank- 
roll, I'd  split  it  with  you,  but  I  just  can't  seem  to 
get  started." 

"Suppose  you  had  twenty-five  thousand  dollars, 
cash;  would  that  help?" 

"Help!    Great  Heavens!     I  could  swing  this 
deal;  it  would  put  me  on  my  feet." 
12  169 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  51 

"I'm  ready  to  pay  you  that  amount  for  a  few 
weeks  of  your  time." 

"Take  a  year  of  it,  two  years.  Take  my  life's 
blood.  Twenty-five  thousand!  You  needn't  tell 
me  any  more;  just  name  the  job  and  I'll  take 
my  chances  of  being  caught.  But — I  say,  you 
just 'told  me  you  were  broke." 

"I  received  about  fifty  thousand  dollars  from 
the  sale  of  the  yacht,  and  I  invested  the  money. 
I  want  you  to  help  me  realize  on  that  investment." 
Murray  tossed  the  packet  of  papers  he  had  been 
examining  into  DeVoe's  lap. 

After  scrutinizing  them  an  instant,  the  latter 
looked  up  with  a  crooked,  startled  stare. 

"Are  you  joking?  Why,  these  are  your  in- 
surance policies!" 

"Exactly!  There  are  seventeen  of  them,  and 
they  foot  up  one  million  dollars — the  limit  in  every 
company.  They  begin  to  expire  in  March,  and  I 
don't  intend  to  renew  them.  In  fact,  I  couldn't 
if  I  wanted  to." 

The  two  men  regarded  each  other  silently  for  a 
moment,  then  the  younger  paled. 

"Are  you — crazy?"  he  gasped. 

"The  doctors  didn't  think  so,  and  that  is  the 
heaviest  life  insurance  carried  by  any  man  in 
America,  with  a  few  exceptions.  Do  you  think 
they  would  have  passed  me  if  I'd  been  wrong  up 
here?"  He  tapped  his  forehead.  "I  intend  that 
you  shall  receive  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  of 
that  money;  the  rest  will  go  to  Muriel." 

170 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  " 

DeVoe  continued  to  stare  alternately  at  the 
policies  and  his  friend;  then  cleared  his  throat 
nervously. 

"Let's  talk  plainly." 

"By  all  means.  You  will  need  to  know  the 
truth,  but  you  are  the  only  one  outside  of  myself 
who  will.  For  some  time  I  have  felt  the  certainty 
that  I  am  going  to  die." 

"Nonsense!     You  are  an  ox." 

"The  more  I've  thought  about  it  the  more  cer- 
tain I've  become,  until  now  there  isn't  the  slightest 
doubt  in  my  mind.  I  took  my  last  dollar  and 
bought  that  insurance.  Do  you  understand?  I'm 
considered  rich,  therefore  they  allowed  me  to  take 
out  a  million  dollars." 

"Sui—  God  Almighty,  man!"  DeVoe's  sag- 
ging jaw  snapped  shut  with  a  click. 

"Let  me  finish;  then  you  can  decide  whether 
I'm  sane  or  crazy,  and  whether  you  want  that 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars  enough  to  help  me. 
To  begin  with,  I'll  grant  you  that  I'm  young — • 
— only  forty — healthy  and  strong.  But  I'm 
broke,  Henry.  I  don't  believe  you  realize  what 
that  means  to  a  chap  who  has  had  two  fortunes 
handed  to  him  and  has  squandered  both.  I'm 
really  twice  forty  years  of  age,  perhaps  three  times, 
for  I  have  lived  faster  than  most  men.  I  have 
been  everywhere,  I  have  seen  everything,  I  have 
done  everything — except  manual  labor,  and  of 
course  I  don't  know  how  to  do  that — I  have  had 
every  sensation.  I'm  sated  and  old,  and  some- 

171 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  " 

times  I'm  a  bit  tired.  I  have  no  enthusiasm  left, 
and  I'm  bankrupt.  To  make  matters  worse  I 
have  a  wife  who  knows  the  truth  and  two  lovely 
children  who  do  not.  Those  kids  believe  I'm  a 
hero  and  the  greatest  man  in  all  the  universe; 
in  their  eyes  I'm  a  sort  of  demigod,  but  in  a  few 
years  they'll  learn  that  I  have  been  a  waster  and 
thrown  away  not  only  my  own  fortune,  but  the 
million  that  belonged  to  them.  That  will  be 
tough  for  all  of  us.  Muriel  knows  how  deeply  I've 
wronged  her,  but  she  is  too  much  a  thoroughbred 
to  make  it  public.  Nevertheless,  she  detests  me, 
and  I  detest  myself;  she  may  decide  to  divorce 
me.  At  any  rate,  I  have  wrecked  whatever  home 
life  I  used  to  have,  for  I'll  never  be  able  to  sup- 
port her,  even  if  I  sell  the  three  places.  I'll  be 
known  as  a  failure;  I'll  be  ridiculed  by  the  world. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  I  should  die  before  next 
March  she  would  be  rich  again."  Murray's  eyes 
rested  upon  the  package  of  policies.  "Perhaps 
time  would  soften  her  memory  of  me.  The 
youngsters  would  have  what  they're  entitled  to, 
and  they  would  always  think  of  me  as  a  grand, 
good,  handsome  parent  who  was  taken  off  in  his 
prime."  He  smiled  whimsically  at  this.  "That 
is  worth  something  to  a  fellow,  isn't  it?  I  don't 
want  them  to  be  disillusioned,  Henry;  I  don't  want 
to  endure  their  pity  and  toleration.  I  don't  want 
to  be  in  their  way  and  hear  them  say,  'Hush! 
Here  comes  poor  old  father!'  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

172 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  " 

"  To  a  certain  extent .  Then  you  really  intend — 
to  kill  yourself?"  DeVoe  glanced  about  the  cozy 
room  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  he  was  not 
dreaming. 

"Decidedly  not.  That  insurance  wouldn't  be 
payable  if — it  was  suicide.  I  intend  to  die  from 
natural  causes — before  the  first  of  March." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"Very  little;  keep  me  company,  answer  ques- 
tions about  my  illness,  perhaps;  attend  to  a  few 
things  after  I'm  gone.  You  might  even  have  to 
prove  that  I  didn't  take  my  own  life.  Do  you 
agree?" 

"Whew!  That's  a  cold-blooded  proposition. 
Are  you  really  in  earnest?" 

"It  took  nearly  my  last  dollar  to  buy  that  in- 
surance. I  will  execute  a  promissory  note  to  you 
for  twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  payable  one 
year  from  date.  Borrowed  money,  understand? 
The  executors  will  see  that  it  is  paid.  Is  that 
satisfactory?" 

"But  you  say  you  can't  kill  yourself  and  yet — 
Good  Lord!  How  calmly  we're  discussing  this 
thing!  What  makes  you  think  you'll  die  of 
natural  causes  within  the  next  three  months?" 

"I  shall  see  that  I  do.  Oh,  I've  thought  it  all 
out.  I've  studied  poisons,  but  there  is  the  danger 
of  discovery  when  one  uses  them.  They'll  do  to 
fall  back  upon  if  necessary,  but  there  is  a  better 
way  which  is  quite  as  certain,  reasonably  quick, 
and  utterly  above  suspicion." 

173 


"MAN    PROPOSES  — " 

"What  is  it?"  questioned  DeVoe,  interestedly. 

"Pneumonia!  I  had  a  touch  of  it  once,  and  I 
know.  They  nearly  lost  me.  It  takes  us  big, 
robust  fellows  off  with  particular  ease  and  expedi- 
tion. You  and  I  will  take  a  hunting  trip;  it  is 
winter;  I  will  suffer  some  unexpected  exposure; 
you'll  do  what  you  can  to  save  me,  but  medical 
attention  will  come  too  late.  It  won't  take  two 
weeks  altogether." 

"If  you're  looking  for  pneumonia  I  know  the 
place.  When  I  left,  ten  days  ago,  men  were  dying 
like  flies.  You  won't  need  to  go  hunting  it;  it 
will  come  hunting  you." 

"Out  West  somewhere,  eh?" 

"The  Nevada  desert.  That's  where  I'm  min- 
ing." 

"Deserts  are  usually  hot." 

DeVoe  shivered.  "Not  this  one,  at  this  sea- 
son. It's  a  hell  of  a  country,  Butler ;  five  thousand 
feet  elevation,  biting  winds,  blizzards,  and  all  that. 
You  just  can't  keep  warm.  But  the  danger  is  in 
the  Poganip." 

"The  what?" 

"The  Poganip;  what  they  call  'the  Breath  of 
Death '  out  there.  It's  a  sort  of  frozen  fog  peculiar 
to  that  locality." 

"Then  you  accept  my  offer?" 

Again  DeVoe  hesitated.  "Are  you  really  going 
to  do  it?  Well  then,  yes.  If  I  don't  take  your 
money,  I  suppose  you'll  employ  somebody  else." 

"Good!    We'll  leave  to-morrow." 


"MAN    PROPOSES  —  '3 

"Can  you  get  your  affairs  in  shape  by  then?" 

"I  don't  want  them  in  shape.  Don't  you  un- 
derstand?" 

"I  see."  After  a  moment  the  younger  man 
continued,  "It's  all  very  well  for  us  to  plan  this 
way  —  but  I'm  not  sure  we'll  succeed  in  our 
enterprise." 

"Why  not,  pray?" 

"Well,  I  dare  say  I'm  a  good  deal  of  a  rotter — I 
must  be  to  go  into  a  thing  like  this — but  I  have  a 
superstitious  streak  in  me.  Possibly  it's  reverence ; 
at  any  rate  I  believe  there  is  a  Power  outside  of 
ourselves  which  appoints  the  hour  of  our  coming 
and  the  hour  of  our  going.  I'm  not  so  sure  you 
can  pull  this  off  until  that  Power  says  so." 

Murray  laughed.  "Nonsense!  What  is  to 
prevent  my  shooting  myself  at  this  moment,  if  I 
want  to?" 

"Nothing,  if  you  want  to — but  you  don't  want 
to.  Why  don't  you  want  to?  Because  that 
Power  hasn't  named  this  as  your  time.  I  don't 
make  myself  very  clear." 

"I  think  I  see  what  you're  driving  at,  but 
you're  wrong.  We  are  masters  of  our  own  des- 
tinies ;  we  make  our  lives  as  full  or  as  empty  as  we 
choose.  I  have  emptied  mine  of  all  it  contained, 
and  I  don't  consider  that  I  am  doing  any  one  an 
injury  in  disposing  of  what  belongs  alone  to  me. 
Now  we'll  complete  the  details." 

The  speaker  drew  a  blank  note  from  his  desk 
and  filled  it  in. 


'MAN    PROPOSES  — '! 

It  was  with  a  very  natural  feeling  of  interest  that 
Butler  Murray  watched  the  desert  unfold  before 
his  car  window  a  few  days  later  as  his  train  made 
its  way  southward  from  the  main  line  and  into  the 
Bad  Lands  of  the  Nevada  gold-fields.  There  was 
snow  everywhere;  not  enough  for  warmth,  but 
enough  to  chill  the  landscape  with  a  gray,  for- 
bidding aspect.  It  lay,  loose-piled  and  shifting, 
behind  naked  rocks,  or  streamed  over  the  knife- 
edge  ridges,  swirling  and  settling  in  the  gullies  like 
filmy  winding-sheets.  All  the  world  up  here  was 
barren,  burned  out,  and  cold,  like  his  own  life; 
it  was  a  fitting  place  in  which  to  end  an  existence 
which  had  proven  such  a  mockery  and  failure. 

Goldfield  was  a  conglomerate  city  in  the  hectic 
stage  of  its  growth.  Rough,  uncouth,  primitive, 
it  lay  cradled  in  the  lap  of  inhospitable  hills  upon 
the  denuded  slopes  of  which  derricks  towered  like 
gallows.  The  whole  naked  country  spoke  of  death 
and  desolation. 

A  bitter  wind  laden  with  driving  particles  of 
sleet  met  the  travelers  as  they  stepped  off  the 
train. 

DeVoe's  headquarters  consisted  of  a  typical 
mining-camp  shack  in  the  heart  of  the  town,  con- 
taining a  bare  little  office  and  two  sleeping-rooms, 
the  hindermost  of  which  gave  egress  to  a  yard 
banked  in  snow  and  flanked  by  other  frame 
buildings. 

Murray  selected  the  coldest  apartment  and  un- 
packed his  belongings,  the  most  precious  of  which 

176 


"MAN    PROPOSES  —  '2 

was  a  folding  morocco  case  containing  three 
photographs — one  of  Muriel  and  one  each  of  the 
boy  and  the  girl. 

Then  followed  a  week  of  careful  preparation. 
Together  the  two  men  made  frequent  excursions 
to  various  mining  properties.  Murray  mingled 
with  the  heterogeneous  crowd  of  brokers,  pro- 
moters, gamblers,  and  mine -owners;  he  took 
options  on  claims  and  made  elaborate  plans  to 
develop  them;  he  was  interviewed  by  reporters 
from  the  local  papers ;  articles  were  printed  telling 
of  his  proposed  activities.  When  he  had  laid  a 
secure  foundation,  he  announced  to  DeVoe  that 
the  time  had  come. 

It  appeared  that  the  latter  had  by  no  means 
exaggerated  the  dangers  of  this  climate,  for  men 
were  really  dying  in  such  numbers  as  to  create 
almost  a  panic,  the  hospitals  were  overcrowded, 
and  Murray  had  been  repeatedly  warned  to  take 
the  strictest  care  of  himself  if  he  wished  to  pre- 
serve his  health.  The  altitude  combined  with  the 
cold  and  wet  and  the  lack  of  accommodations  was 
to  blame,  it  seemed,  and  accounted  for  the  high 
mortality  rate.  Doctors  assured  him  that  once  a 
man  was  stricken  with  pneumonia  in  this  climate 
there  was  little  chance  of  saving  him. 

That  evening  he  let  the  fire  die  out  of  the  stove 
in  his  room,  then  went  next  door  to  a  little  Tur- 
kish-bath establishment,  and  proceeded  to  sweat 
for  an  hour.  Instead  of  drying  himself  off  he 

177 


'MAN    PROPOSES  — " 

flung  a  greatcoat  over  his  streaming  shoulders, 
slipped  into  boots  and  trousers,  then  stepped  across 
the  snow-packed  yard  to  his  own  quarters,  where 
he  found  DeVoe  bundled  up  to  the  chin  and 
waiting.  His  brief  passage  across  the  open  snow 
had  chilled  him,  for  the  wind  was  cruel,  but  he 
blew  out  the  light  in  his  chamber,  flung  off  his  over- 
coat, then,  standing  in  the  open  door,  drank  the 
frost-burdened  air  into  his  overheated  lungs. 

"God!  You're  half  naked!"  chattered  the  on- 
looker. "You'll  freeze." 

The  moisture  upon  Murray's  body  dried  slowly. 
He  began  to  shake  in  every  muscle,  but  he  con- 
tinued his  long,  deep  breaths — breaths  that  con- 
gealed his  lungs.  He  became  cramped  and  stiff. 
He  suffered  terribly.  He  felt  constricting  bands 
about  his  chest;  darting,  numbing  pains  ran 
through  him.  He  could  not  tell  how  long  he  con- 
tinued thus,  but  eventually  the  sheer  agony  of  it 
drove  him  back.  He  closed  the  door  and  crept 
into  bed,  the  clammy  cotton  sheets  of  which  were 
warm  against  his  flesh.  Through  rattling  teeth 
he  bade  good  night  to  his  friend,  saying: 

"D-don't  mind — anything  I  do  or — say  during 
the  night." 

DeVoe  lost  no  time  in  seeking  his  own  warm 
room,  where  Murray  heard  him  stamping  and 
threshing  his  arms  to  revive  his  circulation. 

There  could  be  but  one  outcome  to  such  a 
suicidal  action,  the  frozen  man  reflected.  Stronger 
fellows  than  he  were  dying  daily  from  half  such 

178 


"MAN    PROPOSES  —  '3 

exposure.  Why,  already  he  could  feel  his  lungs 
congesting.  Although  the  agony  was  almost  un- 
endurable, he  forced  himself  to  lie  still,  then 
traced  the  course  of  his  blood  as  it  gradually  crept 
through  his  veins.  Eventually  he  fell  asleep,  tor- 
tured, but  satisfied. 

Henry  found  him  slumbering  peacefully  late  the 
next  morning,  and  when  he  arose  he  felt  better 
and  stronger  than  he  had  for  years. 

' '  Jove !  I'm  hungry, ' '  he  said  as  he  dressed  him- 
self. 

"I  expected  to  find  you  mighty  sick,"  his  friend 
exclaimed,  wonderingly.  "I  slept  cold  all  night." 

"It  seems  I  didn't  catch  it  that  time.  I  must 
be  stronger  than  I  thought." 

He  ate  a  hearty  breakfast,  and,  although  he 
tramped  the  hills  all  day  in  the  snow  and  cold, 
watching  himself  carefully  for  signs  of  approach- 
ing illness,  he  was  disappointed  to  discover  none 
whatever.  At  bedtime  he  repeated  his  perform- 
ance of  the  night  before,  but  with  the  same  result. 
When  he  awoke  on  the  second  morning,  however, 
he  found  the  desert  town  wrapped  in  the  dark 
folds  of  a  fog  that  chilled  his  marrow  and  clung  to 
-his  clothing  in  little  beads.  It  was  a  strange 
phenomenon,  for  the  air  was  bitterly  cold  and  yet 
saturated  with  moisture;  mountain  and  valley 
were  hidden  in  an  impalpable  dust  that  was 
neither  fog  nor  snow,  but  a  freezing,  uncomfort- 
able combination  of  both. 

DeVoe  hugged  the  fire  all  day,  saying  to  his 
179 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  " 

guest:  "You'll  have  to  do  the  trick  alone,  Butler; 
it's  too  deucedly  unpleasant  sitting  there  in  the 
cold  every  night.  I'll  get  sick." 

"It's  not  very  agreeable  for  me,  either,  and  the 
least  you  can  do  is  to  keep  me  company.  That's 
the  agreement,  you  know." 

After  some  argument  DeVoe  acceded,  saying, 
"Oh,  if  you  want  me  to  hold  your  hand  while 
you  freeze  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  do  it,  although  I 
can't  see  the  use  of  it." 

That  night  when  Murray  had  regained  his 
cheerless  room  after  taking  his  Turkish  bath  he 
drank  a  goblet  of  raw  whisky,  then  flung  wide  the 
door,  and,  standing  upon  the  sill,  half  nude  and 
gleaming  with  perspiration,  inhaled  the  deadly 
Poganip.  When  the  fiery  liquor  had  driven  the 
last  drop  of  his  hot  blood  to  the  surface  he  seized 
a  bottle  of  alcohol  and,  upending  it,  drenched 
his  body.  If  he  had  suffered  previously,  he  now 
endured  supreme  agony.  As  the  alcohol  evapo- 
rated upon  his  naked  skin  it  fairly  froze  the  blood 
he  had  forced  up  from  his  heart's  cavities.  He 
groaned  with  the  pain  of  it.  Again  he  felt  as  if 
his  body  were  coating  with  ice;  his  lungs  con- 
tracted with  that  agonizing  grip. 

"This  is  too  c-cold  for  me,"  DeVoe  chattered, 
finally.  "I'm  going  to  beat  it." 

As  Butler  Murray  cowered  and  shook  in  his  bed 
an  hour  later  he  decided  that  his  third  and  final 
effort  had  succeeded,  for  not  only  did  he  plainly 
feel  the  effects  of  that  terrible  ordeal,  but  by  every 

180 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  " 

law  of  nature  and  hygiene  he  was  doomed.  He 
had  drunk  the  whisky  to  increase  the  peripheral 
circulation  of  his  body  to  the  highest  point,  then 
by  the  use  of  the  alcohol  had  reduced  his  tempera- 
ture to  a  frightful  extent  and  driven  his  blood 
back,  frozen  and  sluggish.  That  was  inevitably 
suicidal,  as  the  least  knowledge  of  medicine  would 
show;  it  could  not  be  otherwise.  He  was  very 
glad,  too,  for  this  suffering  was  more  than  he  had 
bargained  for. 

He  awoke  in  the  morning  feeling  none  the  worse 
for  his  action.  He  did  not  even  have  a  cold. 

DeVoe's  amazement  at  this  miracle  was  mingled 
with  annoyance  which  he  showed  by  complaining : 
"See  here,  Butler,  are  you  kidding?  You  might 
at  least  have  a  little  consideration  for  my  feelings ; 
this  suspense  is  awful." 

"My  dear  fellow,  I'm  doing  all  I  can."  Murray 
filled  his  chest,  then  pressed  it  gingerly  with  his 
palm.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  soreness;  his 
muscles  lacked  even  a  twinge  of  rheumatism. 

That  day  he  had  another  window  cut  in  the 
wall  of  his  room,  immediately  over  his  bed,  and, 
after  exposing  himself  as  usual  upon  retiring,  left 
it  open  and  slept  in  the  draught.  Finding  that 
this  had  no  effect,  he  undertook  to  sleep  without 
covers,  but  the  bitter  weather  would  not  permit, 
so  he  purchased  drugs  and,  after  returning  from 
his  Turkish  bath,  swallowed  a  sleeping  -  potion. 
When  he  could  no  longer  keep  his  eyes  open  he 

181 


'MAN    PROPOSES—* 

lay  down  nude  and  dripping  where  the  frigid  wind 
sucked  over  him.  Some  time,  somehow,  before 
morning  he  must  have  covered  himself,  for  he 
awoke  between  the  sheets  as  usual.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  a  thick  feeling  in  his  head,  however, 
which  quickly  wore  off,  he  possessed  no  ill  effects. 

Day  after  day,  night  after  night,  he  exposed 
himself  with  a  deliberate  methodical  recklessness 
that  seemed  fatal;  time  after  time  his  good  con- 
stitution threw  off  the  assault.  DeVoe  declared 
querulously  that  his  friend  looked  even  better  than 
when  they  had  arrived,  and  the  scales  showed  he 
had  put  on  five  pounds  of  weight.  The  affair 
assumed  an  ironical,  grisly  sort  of  humor  which 
amused  Murray.  But  it  was  maddening  to  DeVoe. 

One  howling,  stormy  afternoon  the  former 
bundled  his  accessory  into  warm  clothes  and  took 
him  for  a  long  walk.  Leaving  the  town  behind 
them,  they  plowed  up  through  the  snow  to  the 
summit  of  a  near-by  mountain  where  the  gale  raged 
past  in  all  its  violence.  Henry  was  cursing  the 
cold  and  grumbling  at  his  idiocy  in  coming  along, 
and,  when  he  had  regained  his  breath,  growled: 

"Understand,  Butler,  this  ends  it  for  me.  I 
never  agreed  to  kill  myself.  Hereafter  you  can 
make  your  Alpine  trips  alone.  I've  had  a  cold 
now  for  a  week." 

Murray  laughed  good-naturedly.  "Remember, 
if  I  fail  I  can't  pay  you." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  then,  get  it  over  with!  I 
need  that  money  and — I  have  nerves." 

182 


"MAN    PROPOSES  —  '3 

The  former  speaker  opened  his  coat  and  DeVoe 
saw  that  he  had  left  the  house  with  no  protection 
whatever  beneath  it,  except  trousers  and  foot- 
gear. His  body  was  wet  from  the  climb,  but  he 
exposed  it  openly  to  the  storm  until  he  was  blue 
with  cold,  while  the  younger  man  stamped  about, 
threshing  his  arms  and  lamenting  his  own  dis- 
comfort. 

That  night  Murray  repeated  his  Turkish  bath, 
swallowed  his  usual  narcotic,  and  lay  down  upon 
his  draughty  couch  to  be  awakened  some  time 
after  midnight  by  a  cry  of  "Fire."  He  noted 
dully  that  a  vivid  glare  was  flickering  through  his 
open  windows,  and  saw  that  the  roofs  adjoining 
were  silhouetted  against  a  redly  glowing  sky;  he 
heard  a  great  clamor  of  shouting  voices,  gun- 
shots, bells,  running  feet,  so  arose  and  dressed  him- 
self. Instead  of  donning  his  regular  clothing,  how- 
ever, he  drew  on  a  pair  of  trousers,  thrust  his  bare 
feet  into  rubber  boots,  then  buttoned  a  rubber 
coat  over  his  naked  shoulders. 

When  he  undertook  to  rouse  DeVoe,  Henry  re- 
fused to  get  up,  murmuring  sourly  beneath  his 
blankets : 

"It's  too  cold  and  I've  just  fallen  asleep — been 
tossing  around  for  hours." 

"Very  well.  If  it  should  spread  in  this  direction 
I'll  come  back  and  help  get  the  things  out." 

The  blizzard  of  the  previous  day  had  increased 
in  violence,  and  as  Murray  stepped  out  into  it  the 
cold  sank  through  his  thin  garb  and  cut  him  to  the 

183 


"MAN   PROPOSES  —  '1 

bone.  His  rain-coat  was  almost  no  protection, 
the  rubber  boots  upon  his  bare  feet  froze  quickly, 
but  he  smiled  with  a  grim,  distorted  sense  of  satis- 
faction as  he  decided  that  here  perhaps  was  his 
long-awaited  opportunity. 

A  winter  fire  in  a  desert  mining-camp  is  a 
serious  calamity.  Water  is  scarce  at  all  times, 
and  at  this  particular  season  Goldfield  was  even 
drier  than  usual.  Volunteers  had  already  joined 
the  insufficient  fire  department,  but  the  blaze 
was  gaining  headway  in  spite  of  all.  The  wind 
played  devilish  pranks,  serving  not  only  to  fan  the 
conflagration,  but  to  deaden  human  hands  and 
reduce  human  bodies  to  helpless,  clumsy  things. 

Butler  Murray  plunged  into  the  fight  with  an 
abandon  that  won  admiration  even  in  this  chaos. 
He  had  no  fear,  he  courted  danger,  he  led  where 
others  shrank  from  following.  In  and  out  of  the 
flames  he  went,  now  blistered  by  the  heat,  now 
numbed  by  the  wintry  gale.  His  body  became 
drenched  with  sweat,  only  to  be  caked  in  ice  from 
the  spray  a  moment  later.  Icicles  clung  to  his 
brows,  his  boots  filled  with  water.  It  was  he 
who  laid  the  dynamite,  it  was  he  who  set  it  off 
and  razed  the  buildings  in  the  path  of  the  con- 
flagration, checking  the  swift  march  of  destruction. 
Although  he  labored  like  a  giant,  taking  insane 
risks  at  every  opportunity,  his  life  seemed  charmed, 
and  dawn  found  him  uninjured,  although  stagger- 
ing from  weakness.  Women  brought  him  hot 
coffee  and  sandwiches,  then  when  the  fire  was 

184 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  " 

under  control  he  returned  to  his  quarters,  half 
naked,  as  he  had  set  out.  It  had  been  one  long 
battle  against  the  blind  god  luck  and  he  had 
emerged  unscathed.  And  yet  he  had  not  lost, 
for  no  human  body  could  withstand  a  strain  like 
this;  his  previous  exposures  had  been  as  nothing 
compared  with  what  he  had  undergone  these  many 
hours.  If  this  did  not  bring  pneumonia  nothing 
could. 

As  he  lurched  up  the  frozen  street  men  cheered 
him  and  something  warm  awoke  in  his  heart,  but 
when  he  stumbled  into  DeVoe's  room  he  found 
that  young  man  still  in  bed,  his  cheeks  flushed  and 
feverish.  Henry  was  coughing  and  groaning;  he 
complained  of  pains  in  his  head  and  chest. 

An  hour  later  a  doctor  pronounced  it  pneumonia, 
and  when  the  patient  grew  rapidly  worse  he  was 
moved  to  the  wretched  excuse  for  a  hospital. 
Murray  snatched  a  few  hours'  sleep  that  night  as 
he  sat  by  his  friend's  bedside  and  the  next  day 
found  him  as  fit  as  ever.  But  in  spite  of  every 
attention  DeVoe's  fever  mounted,  his  lungs  began 
to  fill,  and  on  the  second  night  he  died. 

The  suddenness  of  this  tragedy  stunned  Butler 
Murray  and  its  mockery  enraged  him.  He  had 
promised  DeVoe,  toward  the  last,  to  take  his  body 
East,  and  now  decided  it  was  just  as  well  to  do  so, 
for  he  had  proven,  to  his  own  satisfaction  at  least, 
that  he  could  not  catch  pneumonia,  no  matter 
how  hard  he  tried.  A  few  hours  later,  therefore, 
he  was  on  the  overland  train  bound  for  New  York. 
13  I85 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  '3 

He  had  wasted  a  month  of  valuable  time,  but  as 
to  relinquishing  his  purpose,  the  idea  never  oc- 
curred to  him. 


ii 


THE  physical  comfort  of  his  club  was  most  agree- 
able after  his  recent  ordeal,  but  he  enjoyed  it  only 
a  few  days,  then  began  to  look  about  for  a  suitable 
place  in  which  to  end  his  grim  comedy.  He 
selected  the  spot  with  little  delay — a  sharp  turn 
in  a  hillside  road  that  wound  down  from  the 
heights  near  Spuyten  Duyvil — he  had  often  passed 
it  in  summer  and  knew  the  danger  well.  If  his 
automobile  went  over  the  edge,  now  that  the 
roads  were  icy,  who  could  say  it  was  not  acci- 
dental ? 

He  did  not  advise  Muriel:  of  his  return,  fearing 
to  trust  himself  either  to  write  or  to  telephone,  but 
spent  much  time  in  front  of  the  morocco  case  with 
its  three  photographs,  longing  desperately  to  see 
her  and  the  children. 

When  he  felt  that  an  auspicious  time  had  ar- 
rived, he  'phoned  his  friend,  Dr.  Herkimer,  and 
invited  himself  to  dinner.  Herkimer  was  de- 
lighted, and  a  few  evenings  later  the  clubman 
motored  out  toward  Yonkers,  where  he  was  made 
welcome  and  spent  an  agreeable  evening. 

"Where's  your  chauffeur?"  the  doctor  inquired 
as  his  guest  drew  on  his  fur  coat  and  driving- 
gloves,  preparatory  to  leaving. 

186 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  " 

"I  let  him  go  to-night.  I  thought  I'd  enjoy 
running  the  machine,  for  a  change." 

"The  roads  are  bad;  be  careful  you  don't  skid 
on  the  hills.  I  nearly  went  over  to-day." 

Murray  promised  to  heed  the  warning,  and  a 
few  moments  later  was  gliding  toward  the  city. 

The  beauty  of  this  cold,  sharp  night  was  in- 
spiriting; the  moon  was  brilliant;  the  air  was 
charged  with  life  and  vigor.  It  gave  him  a  thrill 
to  realize  that  he  was  sweeping  to  probable  death ; 
that  nothing  now  could  intervene  to  thwart  him, 
and  while,  of  course,  there  was  the  unpleasant 
possibility  that  a  plunge  over  the  declivity  might 
do  no  more  than  maim  him,  he  had  studied  the 
place  carefully  and  intended  to  reduce  that 
chance  to  a  minimum  by  driving  his  car  down  the 
hill  with  sufficient  velocity  to  hurl  it  far  out  over 
the  edge.  There  were  railroad  tracks  beneath; 
anything  short  of  instant  death  would  be  miracu- 
lous. 

As  he  came  out  upon  the  heights  at  last  it 
occurred  to  him  that  he  was  behaving  very  well 
for  a  man  about  to  die.  His  hand  was  steady,  his 
heart  was  not  greatly  quickened,  he  was  ab- 
solutely sane  and  healthy  and  full  of  the  desire 
to  live.  A  short  distance  from  the  crest  he 
stopped  his  machine,  then  sat  motionless  for  a 
few  moments  drinking  in  the  beauty  of  the  night 
and  taking  his  farewell  of  Muriel.  When  he  had 
arrived  at  peace  with  himself  he  fixed  his  wife's 
image  in  his  mind,  then,  thrusting  down  the  ac- 

187 


'MAN    PROPOSES  — " 

celerator,  let  in  the  clutch.  There  was  a  jar,  a 
jerk,  a  spasmodic  shudder  of  the  machinery;  the 
motor  went  dead. 

This  unexpected  interruption  affected  Murray 
oddly,  until  he  realized  that  after  stopping  the  car 
he  had  neglected  to  shift  his  gears  to  neutral. 
With  an  imprecation  at  his  stupidity  he  clambered 
out  and  cranked  the  motor.  When  it  failed  to 
start  he  primed  his  carbureter  and  cranked  again. 
It  was  an  expensive,  foreign-built  machine,  and 
one  turn  should  have  served  to  set  it  going,  but, 
strangely  enough,  there  was  no  explosion.  For 
fifteen  minutes  he  did  everything  his  limited 
knowledge  permitted,  but  the  car  remained  sta- 
tionary upon  the  crest  of  the  hill,  a  stubborn,  life- 
less mass  of  metal. 

Evidently  that  jerk  had  wrought  havoc  with 
some  delicate  adjustment,  he  reasoned,  perhaps  the 
wiring,  but  it  was  too  dark  to  diagnose  just  where 
the  trouble  lay.  It  was  cold,  also,  and  his  numb 
fingers  refused  to  be  of  much  assistance.  He  gave 
over  his  efforts  finally,  and  stared  about  with  a 
troubled  look  in  his  eyes.  This  was  childish, 
utterly  idiotic.  He  wanted  to  laugh,  but  instead 
he  cursed,  then  cranked  the  motor  viciously  until 
the  sweat  stood  out  upon  his  forehead. 

An  hour  later  he  was  towed  into  town  behind  a 
rescue-car  summoned  by  telephone  from  the  near- 
est garage.  As  he  left  his  machine  to  board  a 
Subway  train,  the  mechanic  announced: 

"Maybe  it  was  a  good  thing  you  broke  down 
188 


"MAN    PROPOSES  —  ' 

before  you  hit  that  hill,  boss.  There  was  a  bad 
accident  at  the  turn,  to-day;  the  police  are  going  to 
close  the  street  till  spring." 

Murray  was  not  superstitious,  but,  recalling  his 
many  failures  at  Goldfield,  he  decided  he  would 
make  no  further  attempt  to  do  away  with  himself 
by  means  of  his  motor-car.  Now  that  this  par- 
ticular road  was  closed  to  traffic,  he  knew  of  no 
other  place  so  favorable  to  his  project,  and,  inas- 
much as  the  time  was  growing  short,  to  be  only 
partially  successful  in  his  attempt  would  mean 
utter  ruin.  With  no  little  regret,  therefore,  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  fall  back  upon  poison,  which 
at  least  was  certain,  even  though  possessed  of 
obvious  drawbacks. 

His  experience  with  DeVoe  had  rendered  him 
a  bit  cynical  regarding  the  value  of  friendship, 
hence  it  was  with  no  fear  of  a  checkmate  that  he 
telephoned  to  Dr.  Herkimer  and  made  an  appoint- 
ment for  that  afternoon.  When  the  doctor 
arrived  at  the  club,  Murray  laid  the  matter  before 
him  in  a  concise,  cold-blooded  manner,  and  was 
relieved  to  hear  him  voice  exactly  the  words 
DeVoe  had  used. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"I  want  you  to  call  here  for  me  to-morrow 
morning.  You  will  find  me  dead  in  my  bed.  I 
want  you  to  examine  me  and  call  it  heart  failure 
or  whatever  you  think  best.  Your  word  will  be 
sufficient;  there  will  be  no  suspicion,  no  further 
examination,  at  least,  until  the  poison  I  intend 

189 


"MAN    PROPOSES  —  '1 

to  use  will  have  had  time  to  disappear  or  change  its 
form." 

"And  why  should  I  do  this?"  The  doctor 
looked  his  friend  over  oddly. 

"Here  is  one  reason  which  I  hope  is  sufficient." 
Murray  held  out  a  promissory  note  for  the  same 
amount  as  the  one  he  had  executed  for  DeVoe. 

Herkimer  took  it,  then,  as  he  read  the  figures, 
his  face  paled.  Crushing  it  in  his  palm,  he  rose, 
and  in  a  voice  harsh  with  fury  unloosed  a  stream  of 
profanity  that  surprised  his  hearer. 

"You  contemptible,  short-bred  loafer!"  he  con- 
cluded. "What  do  you  take  me  for?  What 
makes  you  think  I'd  do  such  a  rotten  thing  as 
that?" 

Murray  smiled.  "You'll  have  to,  old  man.  It 
isn't  pleasant,  of  course,  but  you  won't  allow 
Muriel  and  the  children  to  lose  that  money.  I 
like  your  spirit,  but  I  shall  kill  myself  just  the 
same,  and  it's  up  to  you  to  see  that  they  are  not 
ruined." 

Again  Herkimer  became  incoherent. 

"Oh,  swear  as  much  as  you  please,  I'm  going  to 
do  it,  nevertheless.  I've  made  a  wretched  failure 
of  everything  else,  but  I  intend  to  right  one  of  my 
wrongs  while  there  is  time." 

"Right!  Wrong!"  bellowed  the  physician. 
"Damn  it,  man!  You're  asking  me  to  help  you 
steal  a  million  dollars.  Does  that  occur  to  you?" 

"The  end  justifies  the  means  in  this  case. 
You're  not  rich.  That  twenty-five  thousand — " 

190 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  '3 

Herkimer  flung  the  paper  at  the  speaker. 

"Well,  if  you  won't  take  my  money,  you'll  have 
to  help  me,  out  of  friendship.  At  nine  o'clock 
to-morrow  morning  I  shall  be  dead.  Knowing 
the  truth  and  all  it  means,  you'll  have  to  come. 
You — can't — stay — away. ' ' 

"Oh,  is  that  so?"  the  doctor  mocked,  furiously. 
"I'll  show  you  whether  I  can  or  not."  He  jerked 
his  watch  from  his  pocket  and  consulted  it. 
"There's  a  train  for  Boston  in  twenty  minutes  and 
I'm  going  to  take  it.  I  couldn't  get  back  here  in 
time  even  if  I  wanted  to.  Now,  kill  yourself  and 
be  damned  to  you."  He  seized  his  hat  and  rushed 
out  of  the  room,  slamming  the  door  behind  him. 

A  moment  later  Murray  heard  a  taxi-cab  whir 
noisily  away  from  the  club-house  door. 

Manifestly,  there  were  more  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  this  enterprise  than  he  had  counted  upon. 
Without  the  co-operation  of  some  reliable  phy- 
sician the  clubman  dared  not  do  away  with  him- 
self in  New  York;  coroners  are  curious,  medical 
attention  is  too  prompt,  he  was  too  well  known, 
the  very  existence  of  that  tremendous  amount 
of  life  insurance  would  lead  to  investigation.  He 
decided  to  go  hunting,  and  he  knew  just  the  right 
place  to  go,  too,  he  thought. 

Several  years  before  he  had  joined  a  gunning 
club  which  owned  a  vast  expanse  of  rice-fields 
and  marsh  lands  in  North  Carolina,  and,  knowing 
the  place  thoroughly,  he  concluded  that  it  offered 
perfect  facilities  for  such  an  action  as  he  con- 

191 


"MAN    PROPOSES  —  ' 

templated.  Accordingly,  he  packed  his  guns, 
wired  for  a  guide,  and  boarded  a  train  for  the 
South  that  very  night.  In  his  pocket  he  carried 
a  vial  containing  twenty-five  grains  of  powdered 
cocaine. 

The  club  launch  met  him  at  Boonville,  the 
nearest  station,  and  during  the  twenty-mile  trip 
down  the  Sound  he  learned  all  he  wished  to  know. 
The  shooting  was  well-nigh  over;  there  were  no 
other  members  at  the  club-house;  he  would  have 
the  place  all  to  himself. 

For  several  days  he  hunted  diligently,  taking 
pains  to  write  numerous  letters  to  his  friends,  and 
among  others  to  Muriel.  It  was  his  first  letter 
since  their  parting,  and  the  strain  of  holding  his 
pen  within  formal  bounds  was  almost  too  much 
for  him.  It  was  a  pity  she  would  never  under- 
stand his  motives  in  doing  this  thing,  he  reflected. 
It  was  a  pity  he  had  never  understood  his  own  feel- 
ings before  it  was  too  late.  Manlike,  he  had 
thrown  away  the  only  precious  thing  of  his  life 
while  searching  for  counterfeit  joys,  and,  man- 
like, he  regretted  his  folly  now  that  he  had  lost  her. 

That  evening  he  informed  his  guide  that  he 
intended  to  hunt  by  himself  on  the  following 
morning,  and  in  answer  to  the  old  negro's  warning 
assured  him  that  he  knew  the  channels  well  and 
was  amply  able  to  handle  a  canoe. 

He  rose  early,  forced  himself  to  eat  a  sub- 
stantial breakfast,  for  the  sake  of  appearances, 
then  set  out  in  his  Peterboro.  The  morning  was 

192 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  '1 

chilly  and  he  had  purposely  donned  a  heavy 
sweater,  shell  vest,  leather  coat,  and  hip-boots. 
He  paddled  down  the  river  for  a  mile  or  more, 
then  let  his  craft  drift  with  the  current.  Far 
away  on  one  horizon  was  a  dark,  low-lying  fringe  of 
pines  marking  the  mainland;  two  miles  to  sea- 
ward sounded  the  slow  rumble  of  the  restless 
Atlantic;  on  every  hand  were  acres  upon  acres, 
miles  upon  miles  of  waving  marsh-grass  inter- 
laced with  creeks  and  channels;  nowhere  was 
there  a  sign  of  human  life. 

He  took  the  little  bottle  from  his  pocket,  reached 
over  the  side  and  filled  it  with  water.  He  replaced 
the  cork  and  shook  the  vial  until  the  white  pow- 
der it  contained  was  thoroughly  dissolved.  There 
were  twenty-five  grains  of  it,  eight  fatal  doses,  and 
he  had  seen  that  it  was  fresh.  This  time  there 
could  be  no  question  of  failure,  he  reasoned.  Nor 
was  there  much  chance  of  discovery,  for  after 
that  drug  had  remained  in  his  body  for  a  few 
hours  it  would  be  exceedingly  difficult  of  identifica- 
tion, even  at  the  hands  of  an  expert  toxicologist. 
But  there  were  no  experts  in  this  country,  no 
doctors  at  all,  in  fact,  this  side  of  Boonville,  twenty 
miles  away. 

He  marveled  at  his  coolness  as  he  flung  the  cork 
into  the  stream  and  raised  the  bottle  to  his  lips. 
His  pulse  was  even,  his  mind  was  untroubled. 
He  drank  the  contents,  filled  the  bottle  and  let  it 
sink;  then  rose  to  his  feet,  and,  bearing  his  weight 
upon  the  gunwale  of  his  canoe,  swamped  it. 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  ' 

Burdened  as  he  was  with  shells  and  hunting- 
gear  he  sank,  but  the  cold  water  sent  him  fighting 
and  gasping  to  the  surface  again.  The  blind  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation  mastered  him  and,  be- 
ing a  powerful  swimmer,  he  struck  out.  He  had 
planned  too  well,  however.  His  boots  filled,  his 
clothing  became  wet  and  he  went  down  for  a 
second  time.  Then  commenced  a  senseless,  ter- 
rible struggle,  the  more  terrible  because  the  man 
fought  against  his  own  determination.  He  rose 
slowly  to  the  surface,  but  the  shore  was  far  away, 
the  canoe,  bottom  up,  was  out  of  reach.  He 
gasped  wildly  for  breath  as  his  face  emerged,  but 
instead  of  air  he  inhaled  water  into  his  lungs. 
He  choked,  horrible  convulsions  seized  him,  his 
limbs  threshed,  his  ears  roared,  his  chest  was 
bursting.  He  rose  and  sank,  rose  and  sank, 
enduring  the  agony  of  suffocation,  all  the  time 
fighting  with  a  strong  man's  desperation.  After 
a  time  he  seemed  to  hear  shouting;  something 
tugged  and  hauled  at  him ;  he  discovered  he  could 
breathe  again.  His  senses  wavered,  left  him,  re- 
turned; he  saw  faces  bending  above  him.  A  mo- 
ment later  he  heard  his  name  spoken,  then  found 
himself  awash  in  the  bottom  of  a  gamekeeper's 
batteau. 

As  in  a  dream  he  heard  his  rescuers  explain 
that  they  had  been  out  in  search  of  poachers  and 
had  rounded  the  bend  below  in  time  to  behold 
him  struggling  for  his  life.  They  were  hurrying 
him  back  to  the  club-house  now  as  fast  as  arms 

194 


"MAN    PROPOSES  —  '1 

and  oars  could  propel  them,  and  after  he  had 
gained  sufficient  strength  he  sat  up. 

He  strove  to  answer  their  excited  questions,  but 
could  not  speak.  A  strange  paralysis  numbed  his 
vocal  cords;  he  could  not  swallow;  his  tongue 
was  thick  and  unmanageable.  This  silence  alarmed 
the  wardens,  but  Murray  knew  it  to  be  nothing 
more  than  a  local  anaesthesia  due  to  the  contact 
of  the  cocaine.  He  became  conscious  of  feeling 
very  wretched. 

They  helped  him  up  to  the  club-house,  and  on 
the  way  he  caught  glimpses  of  horrified  black 
faces.  He  saw  the  superintendent  preparing  to 
send  to  Boonville  for  a  doctor,  but,  knowing  that 
the  launch  had  already  left,  calculated  the  time  it 
would  take  for  a  canoe  to  make  the  trip,  and  was 
vaguely  amused  to  realize  that  all  this  excitement 
was  useless.  He  experienced  a  feeling  of  triumph 
at  the  knowledge  that  he  had  succeeded  in  spite 
of  all. 

A  short  time  later  he  was  in  bed,  packed  in 
warm  blankets  and  hot-water  bags,  but  through 
it  all  he  maintained  that  distressing  dumbness. 
Despite  the  artificial  heat  his  hands  and  feet 
tingled,  as  if  asleep,  then  became  entirely  numb, 
and  he  reasoned  that  the  cocaine  had  begun  to 
affect  his  circulation.  He  noted  how  the  chill 
crept  upward  slowly,  showing  that  the  drug  was 
working.  On  the  mantel  opposite  he  saw  Muriel 
smiling  at  him  from  the  morocco  case  and  realized 
that  she  was  very  beautiful.  After  a  time  her 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  '3 

outlines  became  less  distinct,  which  told  him  that 
his  optic  nerve  was  becoming  affected.  Next 
the  contents  of  the  room  grew  hazy.  That  was 
quite  as  it  should  be. 

He  was  much  interested  to  note  his  heart 
action,  which  by  now  had  become  very  erratic. 
Every  pulsation  that  ran  through  him  sounded 
as  plainly  in  his  ears  as  a  drum-beat.  He  noticed 
that  they  were  regular  for  a  time,  then  grad- 
ually increased  in  speed  until  his  heart  raced 
like  a  runaway  motor,  then  ceased  suddenly,  began 
again  slowly,  faintly,  grew  slower  and  fainter,  until 
with  every  flutter  he  thought,  "This  is  the  end!" 

When  this  phenomenon  had  been  repeated  time 
after  time  the  sick  man  endeavored  to  assist  the 
poison's  effect.  At  each  feeble  recovery  of  his 
heart  he  held  his  breath  and  strained  with  all  his 
might,  striving  by  every  force  of  will  to  stop  the 
systolic  action. 

As  he  had  often  heard  that  men  live  again  their 
evil  deeds  in  the  hour  of  dissolution,  and  while  he 
had  perhaps  more  than  the  average  number  of 
sins  upon  his  soul,  he  determined  to  die  thinking 
only  of  pleasant  things,  if  possible.  He  recalled 
his  wedding-day,  and  pictured  Muriel  as  she  had 
appeared  that  morning.  How  sweet  and  gentle 
she  had  been,  what  a  wonderful  time  it  had 
proved  for  him.  They  had  sailed  for  the  Mediter- 
ranean on  the  following  morning,  landing  at 
Naples,  where  they  had  spent  a  week.  From 
there  they  had  gone  to  Rome  for  three  dreamlike 

196 


!<MAN    PROPOSES  —  ' 

months  and  then  to  Nice  and  to  Cairo,  all  the 
time  in  a  lovers'  paradise.  From  Egypt  they  had 
turned  back  to  Morocco.  Yes,  Morocco,  and  how 
she  had  loved  it  there.  Thence  they  had  jour- 
neyed— where?  To  Spain,  of  course.  Murray 
realized  that  his  mind  was  working  more  slowly, 
which  meant  that  the  circulation  to  his  brain  was 
becoming  sluggish.  In  a  few  moments  he  would 
be  unable  to  think  at  all,  it  would  be  over — 
Muriel  would  be  rich  again.  She  was  still  young; 
she  might  marry  some  good  man.  From  Spain 
they  had  gone  by  rail  to — Paris?  No,  the 
Riviera —  It  was  very  difficult  to  think.  In 
Germany,  he  remembered,  they  had  taken  an  old 
castle  for  the —  From  Germany  they  had  gone 
— gone.  Yes.  Muriel  was — gone! 

Murray  awoke  to  find  a  trained  nurse  at  his 
bedside.  He  was  still  in  his  room  at  the  club,  and 
after  a  time  reasoned  that  the  cocaine  must  be 
working  very  slowly.  At  the  first  words  the 
nurse  laid  a  hand  upon  his  lips,  saying: 

"Don't  speak,  please.  You  have  been  very 
ill."  Stepping  to  the  door,  she  called  some  one, 
whereupon  a  man  came  quickly.  Murray  recog- 
nized him  instantly  as  the  famous  Dr.  Stormfield. 
They  had  met  here  three  years  previous  and  shot 
from  the  same  blind. 

' ' Hello,  Murray !"  the  doctor  began.  4 'I'm  glad 
you  came  around  finally.  You've  given  us  the 
devil  of  a  fight." 

197 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  ' 

"How  long — have  I  been  ill?"  whispered  the 
sick  man. 

"Two  days;  unconscious  all  the  time.  Lucky 
for  you  that  I  ran  down  for  a  little  shooting  and 
happened  to  be  on  the  launch  from  Boonville 
the  morning  you  upset.  We  picked  up  your  mes- 
senger on  his  way  to  town,  and  I  got  here  just  in 
time.  Now  don't  talk.  You're  not  out  of  dan- 
ger by  any  means."  That  evening  the  physician 
explained  further:  "You  must  have  suffered  a 
terrible  shock  in  that  cold  water.  I  never  saw  a 
case  quite  like  it.  Your  heart  puzzled  me;  it 
behaved  in  the  most  extraordinary  manner." 

"You  say  I'm  not  out  of  danger?" 

"Far  from  it.  Your  heart  is  nearly  done  for, 
and  the  slightest  exertion  might  set  you  off.  If 
you  got  up,  if  you  raised  yourself  off  the  bed,  you 
might — go  out  like  that."  Stormfield  snapped  his 
fingers. 

"I  suppose  my  wife  has  been  notified?" 

"Yes."  The  doctor  looked  at  his  patient  curi- 
ously. "Would  you  like  to  have  her  come — 

"No,  no!"  A  frightened  look  leaped  into  Mur- 
ray's eyes.  "That's  not  necessary,  you  know." 
After  a  time  he  said:  "Leave  me,  please.  I'm 
tired." 

When  the  doctor  had  closed  the  door  he  lifted 
himself  to  his  elbow,  swung  his  feet  out  upon  the 
floor  and  stood  up;  then,  faint  as  he  was,  he  be- 
gan to  stoop  and  raise  himself,  flexing  his  arms, 
meanwhile,  as  if  performing  a  calisthenic  exercise. 

198 


'MAN    PROPOSES  — " 

He  was  possessed  by  the  one  idea,  that  he  must 
succeed  while  there  was  still  time. 

The  nurse  found  him  face  downward  upon  his 
bed  and  sounded  a  quick  alarm.  All  that  night 
Stormfield  sat  beside  him,  his  eyes  grave,  his  brow 
furrowed  anxiously.  At  intervals  a  woman  came 
to  the  door,  then  at  a  sign  from  the  watcher 
disappeared  noiselessly.  Thereafter  Murray  was 
never  left  alone. 

A  day  or  two  later  he  complained  of  this  over- 
attention,  saying  that  the  nurse's  constant  pres- 
ence annoyed  him,  but  Stormfield  paid  no  atten- 
tion. After  a  time  the  physician  startled  him  by 
inquiring,  abruptly: 

"See  here,  Murray,  what  did  you  take?" 

"I  don't  understand." 

"Yes,  you  do." 

"Why —  What  makes  you  think  I  took  any- 
thing?" 

"Come,  come!  I'm  a  specialist;  I  have  some 
intelligence." 

There  was  a  pause,  then  the  sick  man  finally 
admitted,  "I  took  twenty-five  grains  of  cocaine." 

11  Twenty -five  grains!  God!  It's  incredible! 
Eight  grains  is  the  largest  dose  on  record.  You're 
dreaming,  or  else  the  drug  was  stale." 

"I  was  particular  to  see  that  it  was  fresh." 

Stormfield  paced  the  room,  shaking  his  head 
and  muttering.  "I  wouldn't  dare  report  such  a 
thing;  I'd  be  called  a  faker,  and  yet — there  are 
no  hard-and-fast  laws  of  medicine."  He  stopped 

199 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  '' 

and  stared  at  his  patient.  "What  the  devil 
prompted  you  to  do  it — with  such  a  wife?" 

"That's  just  it,"  the  latter  cried,  miserably. 
"Oh,  you've  done  for  her  a  great  injury  by  saving 
me,  Doctor.  But  I  won't  allow  it.  I — won't!" 

"I  see !"  The  doctor  went  to  the  door,  where  he 
motioned  some  one  to  enter. 

A  woman  rose  from  her  chair  in  the  hall  and 
came  swiftly  to  the  bedside.  Her  face  showed 
the  signs  of  a  long  and  sleepless  vigil,  but  her  eyes 
were  aflame  with  a  hunger  that  held  Butler 
Murray  spellbound  and  amazed. 

"You!"  he  said,  weakly.  "When  did  you 
come?" 

"I  have  been  here  for  days,"  she  answered. 
"Did  you  think  I  could  stay  away?" 

"My — Muriel."  He  held  up  his  shaking  arms, 
whereupon  she  knelt  and  took  his  tired  head  to 
her  breast. 

"I  thought  I  was  doing  right,"  he  confided, 
after  he  had  told  her  everything,  "but  I  see  now 
that  I  was  all  wrong." 

"God  will  name  the  day,"  she  declared,  simply, 
"and  until  He  does  no  man  can  say  'I  will.' ' 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you  have  acted  wisely  in 
showing  me  my  folly?  Remember  we  are  poor. 
Even  yet  I  might  make  you  rich  again,  for  there 
is  time,  and — I'm  not  worth  this  great  sacrifice." 

"Sacrifice?  This  is  the  day  of  our  triumph, 
dear.  When  we  had  all  those  other  riches  we  never 
knew  contentment,  love,  or  happiness.  Now  we 

200 


'MAN    PROPOSES  —  '1 

can  start  again,  with  nothing  but  ourselves  and 
our  children.  We  won't  have  time  to  be  unhappy. 
Are  you  willing  to  try  with  me?" 

He  stroked  her  soft  hair  lovingly  and  smiled  up 
into  her  eyes.  "DeVoe  was  right,  there  is  a 
Power.  I  shall  pray  God  every  day  to  spare  me, 
sweetheart,  for  now  I  want  to  live." 

14 


TOLD    IN    THE    STORM 


TOLD    IN    THE    STORM 

'""THE  front  room  of  the  roadhouse  was  de- 
A  serted  save  for  the  slumbering  bartender, 
back-tilted  in  a  corner,  his  chin  upon  his  chest, 
and  one  other  man  who  sat  in  the  glare  of  a  swing 
lamp  playing  solitaire.  It  was,  perhaps,  three 
hours  after  midnight.  The  last  carouser  had 
turned  in.  There  was  no  sound  save  the  scream 
of  the  black  night  and  the  cry  of  the  salt  wind. 
At  intervals  only,  when  the  storm  lulled,  there 
came  from  the  back  room  the  sound  of  many  men 
asleep. 

I  stumbled  out  from  the  rear  room,  heavy-eyed, 
half  clad,  and  of  a  vicious  temper,  dressing  in  sour 
silence  beside  the  stove. 

"Did  they  wake  you  up?"  the  card-player  in- 
quired. 

"Yes." 

"Me,  too.  I'd  rather  bunk  in  with  a  herd  of 
walrus  in  the  mating  season." 

He  was  a  long,  slim  man,  with  blue-black  hair 
and  a  gas-bleached  face  of  startling  pallor  from 
which  glittered  two  wild  and  roving  eyes  that 
flitted  in  and  out  of  my  visual  line  toward,  to,  and 

205 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

past  me  with  a  baffling  elusive  glimmer  like  that 
of  jet  spangles.  His  hands  were  slender  and  bony 
and  colorless,  but  while  he  talked  they  worked, 
each  independently.  They  performed  queer,  wiz- 
ard antics  with  the  cards — one-handed  cuts,  rapid, 
fluttering  shuffles  and  "frame-ups,"  after  each 
pass  leaving  the  pile  of  pasteboards  as  square-edged 
and  even  as  before.  While  he  observed  me  over 
his  shoulder  one  hand  wandered  to  some  scattered 
poker-chips  which  clicked  together  beneath  his 
touch  into  a  solid-ivory  column  as  if  ( separately 
magnetized.  He  shuffled  and  dealt  and  cut  the 
disks  and  made  them  do  odd  capers  like  the  cards. 

"I  slept  in  a  menagerie  tent  once,"  said  he, 
"but  these  people  have  got  it  on  the  animals." 
He  nodded  toward  the  sleeping-quarters. 

"The  open  life  seems  to  make  a  Pan's  pipe 
out  of  the  human  nose,"  said  I,  with  disgust. 

My  indignation  was  intense  and  underlaid  with 
a  sullen  fury  at  losing  my  rest.  I  seized  the 
stranger  and  led  him  with  me  to  the  open  door, 
saying,  roughly,  "Listen  to  that." 

The  room  was  large  and  low,  dim-lighted  and 
walled  with  tiers  of  canvas-bottomed  "standees" 
three  high.  The  floor  was  a  litter  of  boots,  the 
benches  piled  with  garments.  Every  bed  was 
full,  and  the  place  groaned  with  sounds  of  strangu- 
lation, asphyxiation,  and  other  disagreeable  de- 
mises. The  bunks  were  peopled  by  tortured 
bodies,  which  seemed  to  cry  of  throttlings,  gar- 
rotings,  and  sundry  hideous  punishments.  My 

206 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

nervous  system,  unable  to  stand  it,  had  risen 
a-quiver,  then  shrieked  for  mercy. 

From  the  nearest  sleeper  came  the  most  un- 
happy sounds.  He  snored  at  free-and-easy  in- 
tervals with  the  voice  of  a  whistling-buoy  in  a 
ground  swell — a  handsome,  resonant  intake  that 
died  away  reluctantly,  then  changed  to  a  loath- 
some gurgle,  as  if  he  blew  his  breath  through  a 
tube  into  a  pot  of  thick  liquid.  Now  and  then 
he  smacked  his  lips  and  ground  his  teeth  until  the 
gooseflesh  arose  on  my  neck. 

"That's  the  fellow  that  drove  me  out,"  said  my 
new  acquaintance  as  we  went  back  to  our  seats 
oeside  the  stove.  "I  had  the  berth  below  him. 
I  sleep  light,  anyhow,  since  I  woke  up  one  night 
down  on  the  Texas  Panhandle  and  found  a  China- 
man astraddle  of  my  brisket  with  a  butcher- 
knife." 

"That  must  have  been  nice,"  said  I  at  random. 
"What  did  you  do?" 

"I  doubled  up  my  legs  and  kicked  him  into  the 
camp-fire."  The  stranger  was  dealing  the  cards 
again,  this  time  into  a  fanlike,  intricate  solitaire 
much  affected  by  gamblers.  "I  tried  the  trick 
again  to-night,  but  I  went  wrong.  I  wanted  to 
stop  the  swan-song  of  the  guy  over  my  head,  so  I 
lifted  up  my  feet  and  put  them  where  the  canvas 
sagged  lowest.  Then  I  stretched  my  legs  like  a 
Jap  juggler,  but  I  fetched  away  my  own  bunk  and 
came  down  on  the  man  below.  I  broke  a  snore 
short  off  in  him.  He'll  never  get  it  out  unless 

207 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

he  has  it  pulled.     That  was  us  you  heard  two 
hours  ago." 

I  was  too  tired  and  sleepy  to  talk,  for  I  had 
come  down  from  the  hills  the  previous  afternoon 
to  find  the  equinoxial  raging,  and  as  a  result  the 
roadhouse  full  from  floor  to  ridge-pole  with  the 
motley  crew  that  had  sifted  out  from  the  interior. 
The  coastwise  craft  were  hugging  the  lee  of  the 
sandy  islet,  waiting  for  the  blow  to  abate;  tele- 
phone-wires were  down,  and  Bering's  waters  had 
piled  in  from  the  south  until  they  flooded  the 
endless  sloughs  and  tide  flats  behind  Solomon 
City,  destroyed  the  ferries,  and  cut  us  off  both 
east  and  west,  by  land  and  by  sea.  It  were  better, 
I  had  thought,  to  wait  on  the  coast  for  a  day  or 
so,  watching  for  a  chance  to  dodge  to  Nome,  than 
to  return  to  the  mines,  so  I  had  lugged  my  war 
bag  into  Anderson's  place  and  made  formal  de- 
mand for  shelter. 

The  proprietor  had  apologized  as  he  assigned 
me  a  bunk.  "It's  the  best  I've  got,"  said  he. 
"I've  put  you  alongside  of  the  stove,  so  if  the 
boys  snore  too  loud  you  can  heave  coal  on  'em. 
Them  big  lumps  is  better  than  your  boots." 

I  had  tried  both  fuel  and  footgear  fruitlessly, 
and  when  my  outraged  ears  would  not  permit 
further  slumber  I  had  given  up  the  attempt. 
Now,  while  the  blue-haired  man  with  insomnia 
dealt  "Idiot's  Delight"  I  sat  vaguely  fascinated 
by  the  play  of  his  hands,  half  dozing  under  the 
drone  of  his  voice. 

208 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

The  wind  rioted  without,  whipping  the  sea 
spray  across  the  sand-dunes  until  it  rattled  upon 
our  walls  like  shot.  Meanwhile  my  companion 
adventured  aimlessly,  his  strange  and  vagrant 
fancies  calling  for  no  answer,  his  odd  and  morbid 
journeyings  matching  well  with  the  whimpering 
night.  His  stories  were  without  beginning,  and 
they  lacked  any  end.  They  commenced  without 
reason,  led  through  unfrequented  paths,  then 
closed  for  no  cause.  Through  them  ran  no 
thread  of  relevancy.  They  were  neither  cogent 
nor  cohesive.  Their  incidents  took  shape  and 
tumbled  forth  irrelated  and  inconsequent.  Where- 
fore I  knew  them  for  the  truth,  and  found  myself 
ere  long  wide-eyed  and  still,  my  brain  as  keen  as 
ever  nature  made  it. 

The  story  of  the  dead  Frenchman  has  seemed 
strained  and  gruesome  to  me  since,  but  that  night 
the  storm  made  it  real,  and  the  stranger's  un- 
smiling earnestness  robbed  it  of  offense.  His 
words  told  me  a  tale  of  which  he  had  no  thought, 
and  painted  pictures  quite  apart  from  those  he 
had  in  mind.  His  very  frame  of  mind,  his  pagan 
superstition,  his  frank,  irreverent  philosophy,  dis- 
closed queer  glimpses  of  this  land  where  morals 
are  of  the  fourth  dimension,  where  life  is  a 
gamble  and  death  a  joke.  Whether  he  really 
believed  all  he  said  or  whether  he  made  sport 
of  me  I  do  not  know.  It  may  be  that  the  elfin 
voices  of  the  storm  roused  in  him  an  impulse 
to  gratify  his  distorted  sense  of  humor  at  my 

209 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

expense — or  at  his  own.  He  began  somewhat  as 
follows : 

"It's  a  good  night  for  a  dead  man  to  walk." 
Then,  seeing  the  flicker  in  my  eyes,  he  ran  on: 
"You  don't  think  they  can  do  it,  eh?  Well,  I 
didn't  believe  it  neither,  and  I'm  not  sure  I  believe 
it  now,  but  I've  seen  queer  things — queer  things 
— and  I've  only  got  one  pair  to  draw  to.  Either 
they  happened  as  I  saw  them  or  I'm  crazy."  He 
leaped  at  his  story  boldly. 

"I'm  pretty  tired  and  hungry  when  I  hit 
Council  City  late  one  fall,  for  I'd  upset  my  row- 
boat,  lost  my  outfit,  and  'mushed'  it  one  hundred 
fifty  miles.  My  whole  digestive  paraphernalia  is 
in  a  state  of  innocuous  desuetude,  if  you  know  what 
that  is,  because  all  I  save  from  the  wreck  is  a  flour- 
sack  full  of  cigarette-papers  and  a  package  of 
chocolate  pills  about  the  size  of  a  match-head. 
Each  one  of  these  pellets  is  warranted  to  contain 
sufficient  nourishment  to  last  the  Germany  army 
for  one  month.  I  read  it  on  the  label.  They 
may  have  had  it  in  them;  I  don't  know.  I  swal- 
lowed one  every  morning  and  then  filled  up  on 
reindeer  moss  till  I  felt  like  the  leaping-pad  in  a 
circus. 

"Now,  when  I  reach  camp  I  find  there  ain't 
any  fresh  grub  to  speak  of.  But  I  can't  get  away, 
so  I  stick  on  until  spring.  See!  In  tirrte  we 
begin  to  have  scurvy  something  terrible.  One 
man  out  of  every  five  cashes  in.  I'm  living  in  a 
cabin  with  a  lot  of  Frenchmen  and  we  bury  seven 

210 


TOLD   IN   THE    STORM 

from  this  one  shack — seven,  that's  all!  It  gets 
on  my  nerves  finally.  I  don't  like  dead  men. 
Now,  the  last  two  who  fall  sick  is  old  man  Manard 
and  my  pal,  young  Pete  De  Foe.  Pete  has  a  ten- 
dollar  gold  piece  and  Manard  owns  a  dog.  In- 
asmuch as  they  both  knew  that  they  can't  weather 
it  out  till  the  break-up,  Pete  bets  his  ten  dollars 
against  the  dog  that  he'll  die  before  Manard. 
Well,  this  is  something  new  in  the  sporting  line, 
and  we  begin  to  string  our  bets  pretty  free. 
There  ain't  much  excitement  going  on,  so  the 
boys  visit  the  cabin  every  day,  look  over  the 
entries,  then  go  outside  and  make  book.  I  open 
up  a  Paris  mutuel.  The  old  man  is  a  seven-to- 
one  favorite  at  the  start  because  he  had  all  the 
best  of  it  on  form,  but  the  youngster  puts  up  a 
grand  race.  For  three  weeks  they  seesaw  back 
and  forth.  First  one  looks  like  a  winner,  then 
the  other.  It's  as  pretty  running  as  I  ever  see. 
Then  Pete  lets  out  a  wonderful  burst  of  speed, 
'zings'  over  the  last  quarter,  noses  out  Manard 
at  the  wire,  and  brings  home  the  money.  He  dies 
at  3  A.M.  and  wins  by  four  hours.  I  cop  eighty- 
four  dollars,  six  pairs  of  suspenders,  a  keg  of  wire 
nails,  and  a  frying-pan,  which  constitutes  all  the 
circulating  medium  of  the  camp.  I'm  the  stake- 
holder for  the  late  deceased  also,  so  I  find  myself 
the  administrator  of  Manard's  dog  and  the  ten 
dollars  that  Pete  put  up. 

"Now,  seeing  that  it  had  been  a  killing  finish, 
we  arrange  for  a  double-barreled  burial  and  a 

2TI 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

swell  funeral.  The  ground  is  froze,  of  course,  but 
we  dig  two  holes  through  the  gravel  till  we  break 
a  pick-point  and  decide  to  let  it  go  at  that.  The 
'Bare-headed'  Kid  is  clergyman  because  he  has  a 
square-cut  coat  that  buttons  up  the  front  to  his 
chin.  There  ain't  any  Bible  in  camp,  so  he  read 
some  recipes  out  of  a  baking-powder  cook-book, 
after  which  Deaf  Mike  tries  to  play  'Taps'  on  the 
cornet.  But  he's  held  the  horn  in  his  mit  during 
the  services,  and,  the  temperature  being  forty 
degrees  below  freeze,  when  he  wets  his  lips  to  play 
they  stick  to  the  mouthpiece  and  crab  the  hymn. 
As  a  whole,  it  is  an  enjoyable  affair,  however,  and 
the  best-conducted  funeral  of  the  winter.  Every- 
body has  a  good  time,  though  nothing  rough. 

"Now,  I've  been  friendly  to  young  Pete  De  Foe 
— him  and  I  bunked  together — and  the  next  night 
he  conies  to  me,  saying  that  he  can't  rest.  I  see 
him  as  plain  as  I  see  you. 

"'What's  wrong?'  says  I.     'Are  you  cold?' 

'"No.  The  ground  is  chilly,  but  it  ain't  that. 
Manard,  the  old  hellion,  won't  let  me  sleep.  He's 
doing  a  sand  jig  on  my  grave.  He  says  I  won 
that  bet  crooked  and  died  ahead  of  time  just  to 
get  his  dog.  He's  sore  on  you,  too.' 

'"What's  he  sore  on  me  for?'  says  I. 

"'He  says  he's  an  old  man,  and  he'd  'a'  died 
first  if  you  hadn't  put  in  with  me  to  double-cross 
him.  He's  laying  for  you,'  says  Pete. 

"Well,  I'm  pretty  sick  myself,  with  a  four 
months'  diet  of  pea  soup  and  oatmeal,  and  when 

212 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

I  wake  up  I  think  it's  a  dream.  But  the  next 
night  Pete  is  back  again,  complaining  worse  than 
ever.  It  seems  the  ghost  of  old  man  Manard  is 
still  buck-and-winging  on  Pete's  coffin,  and  he 
begs  me  to  come  down  and  call  the  old  reprobate 
off  so  that  he  can  get  some  rest.  He  comes  back 
the  third  night,  the  fourth,  and  the  fifth,  and 
by  and  by  Manard  himself  comes  up  to  the  cabin 
and  begins  to  abuse  me.  He  says  he  wants  his 
dog  back,  but  naturally  I  can't  give  it  to  him.  It 
gets  so  that  I  can't  sleep  at  all.  Finally,  when 
Pete  ain't  sitting  on  my  bunk  Manard  is  calling 
me  names  and  gritting  his  teeth  at  me.  I  begin 
to  fall  off  in  weight  like  a  jockey  in  a  sweat  bath. 
It  gets  so  I  have  to  sit  up  all  night  in  a  chair  and 
make  the  fellers  prod  me  in  the  stomach  with  a 
stick  whenever  I  doze  off.  I  tell  you,  stranger, 
it  was  worse  than  horrible.  I  don't  know  how  I 
made  it  through  till  spring. 

"Well,  in  the  early  summer  I  get  a  letter  from 
the  steamboat  agent  at  Nome  saying  Manard 's 
people  out  in  the  States  have  slipped  him  some 
coin,  with  instructions  to  send  the  old  man  out  so 
they  can  give  him  decent  burial.  He  offers  me 
one-fifty  to  bring  him  down  to  the  coast.  Now, 
this  decent-burial  talk  makes  me  sore,  for  I 
staged  the  obsequies  myself,  and  they  were  in 
perfect  form.  It  was  one  of  the  tastiest  funerals 
I  ever  mixed  with.  However,  I'm  broke,  so  I 
agree  to  deliver  what  is  left  of  Manard  at  the 
mouth  of  the  river,  and  the  agent  says  he'll  have 

213 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

a  first-class  coffin  shipped  down  to  the  trader  at 
Chinik,  our  landing.  When  I  deliver  Manard, 
ready  for  shipment,  I  get  my  hundred  and  fifty. 

"I  give  you  my  word  I  ain't  tickled  pink  with 
this  undertaking.  I'm  not  strong  on  body-snatch- 
ing, and  I  have  a  hunch  that  the  shade  of  old 
Manard  is  still  hanging  around  somewhere. 
However,  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  the  noblest  work  of 
God,  and  I  need  that  roll,  so  I  make  ready.  It 
takes  me  half  a  day  to  get  drunk  enough  to  want 
to  do  the  job,  and  when  I  get  drunk  enough  to  want 
to  do  it  I'm  so  drunk  I  can't.  Then  I  have  to 
sober  up  and  begin  all  over  again.  The  minute  I 
get  sober  enough  to  do  the  trick  I  realize  I  ain't 
drunk  enough  to  stand  the  strain.  I  jockey  that 
way  for  quite  a  spell  till  I  finally  strike  an  aver- 
age, being  considerable  scared  and  reckless  to  the 
same  extent. 

' '  I  remembered  that  we  planted  the  old  man  in 
the  left-hand  grave,  but  when  I  get  to  the  grave- 
yard I  can't  recollect  whether  I  stood  at  the  foot 
or  at  the  head  of  the  hole  during  the  services— 
a  pint  of  that  mining-camp  hootch  would  box 
the  compass  for  any  man — so  I  think  I'll  make 
sure. 

"I  have  brought  along  three  tools — a  pick,  a 
shovel,  and  a  bottle  of  rye.  The  ground  is  froze, 
so  I  use  all  of  them.  Naturally  I  can't  afford  to 
get  the  wrong  Frenchman,  so  I  pry  up  the  lid  of 
the  first  box  I  uncover  and  take  a  good  rubber. 
Well,  sir,  it  is  a  shock !  Instead  of  rags  and  bones 

214 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

like  I'm  expecting,  there  is  old  Manard  in  statuary 
quo,  so  to  speak.  Froze?  Maybe  so.  Anyhow, 
he  grins  at  me!  That's  what  I  said!  He  grins 
at  me,  and  I  take  it  on  the  lam.  Understand,  I 
have  no  intentions  of  running  away — in  fact,  I 
don't  know  I'm  doing  it  until  I  fetch  up  back  in 
the  saloon.  It  seems  I  just  balanced  my  body  on 
my  legs  and  they  did  all  the  work. 

"Well,  I'm  pretty  well  rattled,  so  I  blot  up  an- 
other pint  of  pain-killer,  and  finally  the  bartender 
goes  back  with  me  and  helps  load  Manard  into 
my  Peterboro.  I'm  pretty  wet  by  this  time.  We 
get  the  box  into  the  canoe  all  right,  but  it's  too 
big  to  fit  under  the  seat,  so  we  place  the  foot  of  it 
on  the  bottom  of  the  boat  and  rest  the  other  end 
on  a  paddle  laid  across  the  gunnels.  This  sort 
of  gives  Manard  the  appearance  of  lounging  back 
on  an  incline.  You  see,  when  I  ripped  up  the 
boards  to  take  a  look  I  broke  off  a  piece  at  a  knot- 
hole, and  that  allows  him  a  chance  to  look  out 
with  one  eye.  He  seems  to  approve  of  the  posi- 
tion, however,  so  I  get  in  at  the  stern,  facing 
him,  and  ask  if  he's  ready.  He  gives  me  the  nod, 
and  I  shove  off.  Just  for  company  I  take  my 
grave-digging  tools  along — that  is,  all  but  the 
pick  and  the  shovel.  It  was  pretty  near  full 
when  I  started,  but  I  lose  the  cork  and  drink  it 
up  for  safety. 

"I  don't  remember  much  about  the  first  part 
of  the  trip  except  that  I  get  awful  lonesome. 
By  and  by  I  begin  to  sing : 

215 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

"'Oh,  the  French  are  in  the  bay!'  said  the  Shaun  Van  Vocht. 
'The  French  are  in  the  bay/  said  the  Shaun  Van  Vocht. 
'The  French  are  in  the  bay.  They'll  be  here  without  delay. 
'But  their  colors  will  decay,'  said  the  Shaun  Van  Vocht." 

"I've  got  a  mean  singing- voice  when  I'm  sober, 
but  when  I'm  kippered  it's  positively  insulting. 
It  makes  my  passenger  sore,  and  he  shows  it. 
Now,  I'm  not  saying  that  Manard  wasn't  as  dead 
as  a  dried  herring.  He  was  past  and  gone,  and 
he'd  made  his  exit  all  right.  He'd  moved  out, 
and  his  lease  had  expired.  But  I  saw  that  box 
move.  It  shifted  from  side  to  side.  I  quit 
singing.  My  song-fountain  ran  dry.  Says  I  to 
myself:  'I  just  neglected  to  lash  you  down, 
Mr.  Manard;  you  didn't  really  turn  over.  It 
was  the  motion  of  the  boat.'  Then,  just  to  make 
sure,  I  break  forth  into  'Johnny  Crapaud,'  keep- 
ing my  eye  on  the  right  lens  of  the  old  man  where 
it  showed  through  the  broken  board.  This  time 
there  ain't  a  doubt  of  it.  He  lurches,  box  and  all, 
clean  out  of  plumb  and  nearly  capsizes  me.  His  ' 
one  lamp  blazes.  Yes,  sir,  blazes !  I  tries  to  get 
out  of  range  of  it,  but  it  follers  me  like  a  search- 
light. I  creeps  forward  to  cover  it  up  with  my 
coat,  but  the  old  frog-eater  leans  to  starboard 
so  far  that  I  have  to  balance  on  the  port  gunnel 
to  keep  from  going  over.  We  begin  to  spin  in  the 
current.  Manard  sees  he  has  me  buffaloed,  and 
it  pleases  him.  He  wags  his  head  at  me  and  grins 
like  he  did  when  he  came  to  me  in  my  sleep. 

"Well,  sir,  that  eye  enthralls  me.     It  destroys 
216 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

my  chain  of  thought.  I  feel  the  chills  stealing  into 
my  marrow,  and  that  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
looks  mighty  small  and  insignificant.  By  and  by 
I  begin  to  figure  it  out  this  way:  says  I,  'I've 
outrun  him  once  to-day,  and  if  I  can  get  ashore 
I'll  try  it  again.'  But  when  I  turn  the  canoe 
toward  shore  Manard  heels  over  till  we  take  water. 

"Lie  still,  you  blame  fool!'  says  I.  'If  you 
feel  that  way  about  it  I'll  stay  with  the  ship,  of 
course.'  I  can  see  the  corner  of  his  mouth  curl 
up  at  that,  and  he  slides  back  into  position. 
Then  I  know  that  he'll  let  me  stick  as  long  as  I 
don't  try  to  pull  out  and  leave  him  flat.  You 
really  can't  blame  a  corpse  much  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. However,  I  can't  swim,  so  I  try  to 
square  myself.  I  make  conversation  of  a  polite 
and  friendly  nature,  and  the  old  boy  settles  back 
to  enjoy  himself. 

"Well,  this  one-sided  talkfest  gets  tiresome  after 
a  while.  I  run  out  of  topics,  so  I  tell  him  funny 
stories.  Sometimes  he  likes  them,  and  some- 
times he  'most  jumps  out  of  the  box.  Sore?  Say, 
when  I  pull  a  wheeze  that  he  don't  like  he  makes 
it  known  quick,  and  I  sit  clutching  the  gunnels, 
with  my  hair  on  end  while  he  rocks  the  boat  like  a 
demon. 

"When  I  get  to  the  mouth  of  the  river  it's  night. 
I  find  a  stiff  breeze  blowing  and  the  bay  covered 
with  whitecaps,  so  I  try  to  convince  Manard  that 
we'd  better  camp.  But  I  no  more  than  suggest 
it  till  I  have  to  bail  for  dear  life.  Seeing  that 
15  217 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

he's  dead  set  to  keep  going,  I  kiss  myself  good-by 
and  paddle  out  across  the  bay.  How  we  ever 
made  it  I  don't  know,  but  along  about  midnight 
we  blow  into  Chinik,  with  me  singing  songs  to 
my  passenger  and  cracking  'Joe  Millers'  that 
came  over  in  seventy-six.  I'm  still  pretty  drunk. 

"The  trader  tells  me  that  the  coffin  hasn't  come 
from  Nome  yet.  But  the  steamer  is  due  before 
morning,  so  I  ask  him  to  cache  Manard  somewhere 
and  wake  me  up  when  the  boat  comes.  Then  I 
go  to  the  hay.  I'm  tuckered  out.  It  seems  that 
the  coaster  comes  in  a  few  hours  later,  but  the 
trader  is  dealing  a  stud  game  and  tells  the  purser 
to  dump  his  freight  on  the  beach.  They  do  as 
ordered,  then  pull  out.  About  daylight  the  wind 
shifts,  the  tide  rises  and  begins  to  wash  the  mer- 
chandise away.  Two  'rough-necks'  get  busy  sav- 
ing their  outfit,  when  what  comes  bobbing  past  on 
the  waves  but  a  handsome  zink-lined  casket — the 
one  from  Nome. 

'"Hey,  Bill,  cop  that  box;  it  '11  make  a  swell 
bath-tub,'  says  one.  So  the  other  pulls  up  his 
rubber  boots,  wades  out,  and  brings  it  in.  The 
trader,  hearing  that  his  goods  are  in  danger,  ad- 
journs the  game  long  enough  to  see  about  it. 
He  hurries  down  to  the  beach,  looks  over  his 
stuff,  then  inquires: 

'"Where's  my  coffin?' 

'"You  'ain't  got  no  more  coffin  than  a  rabbit,' 
says  one  of  the  miners. 

'"Oh,  yes,  I  have.     That's  it  right  there.' 
218 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

"'I  guess  not.  That's  my  coffin.  I  copped  it 
on  the  high  seas — flotsam  and  jetsam,'  says  the 
'rough-neck.'  'What's  more,  I'm  going  to  use 
it  for  a  cupboard  or  a  cozy  corner.  If  you  want 
it  bad  pay  me  fifty  dollars  salvage  and  it's  yours.' 
Naturally  the  trader  belched. 

'"All  right.  If  you  don't  want  it  I'll  use  it 
myself,'  says  the  miner.  'It's  the  first  one  I  ever 
had,  and  I  like  it  fine.  There's  no  telling  when 
I'll  get  another.' 

'  'Said  time  ain't  but  a  minute,'  observes  the 
trader,  'unless  you  gimme  that  freight.' 

"There  is  some  further  dispute  till  the  miner, 
being  a  quick-tempered  party,  reaches  for  his 
Gat.  After  the  smoke  clears  away  it  is  found  that 
he  has  made  an  error  of  judgment,  that  the  store- 
keeper is  gifted  as  a  prophet,  and  that  the  'rough- 
neck' is  ready  for  his  coffin. 

"Now,  inasmuch  as  this  had  been  a  purely 
personal  affair  and  the  boys  was  anxious  to  re- 
open the  stud  game,  they  exonerated  the  trader 
from  all  blame  complete,  and  he,  being  ever 
anxious  to  maintain  a  reputation  for  fair  dealing 
and  just  to  show  that  there  ain't  no  animus 
behind  his  action,  gives  the  coffin  to  the  man  who 
had  claimed  it.  What's  more,  he  helps  to  lay 
him  out  with  his  own  hands.  Naturally  this  is 
considered  conduct  handsome  enough  for  any 
country.  In  an  hour  the  man  is  buried  and  the 
poker  game  is  open  again.  The  trader  apologizes 
to  the  boys  for  the  delay,  saying: 

219 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

'"The  box  is  mine,  all  right,  and  I'm  sorry  this 
play  come  up,  but  the  late  lamented  was  so  set  on 
having  that  piece  of  bric-a-brac  that  it  seemed  a 
shame  not  to  give  it  to  him.' >: 

At  this  point  the  narrator  fell  silent,  much  to 
my  surprise,  for  throughout  this  weird  recital  I 
had  sat  spellbound,  forgetful  of  the  hour,  the 
storm  outside,  and  the  snoring  men  in  the  bunk- 
room.  When  he  had  gone  thus  far  he  began  with 
a  bewildering  change  of  topic. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  how  Dawson  Sam  cut  the 
ears  off  a  bank  dealer?" 

"Hold  on!"  said  I.  "What's  the  rest  of  this 
story?  What  became  of  Manard?" 

"Oh,  he's  there  yet,  for  all  I  know,"  said  the 
stranger  as  he  shuffled  the  cards.  "His  folks 
wouldn't  send  no  more  money,  the  steamboat 
agent  at  Nome  had  done  his  share,  and  the  trader 
at  Chinik  said  he  wasn't  responsible." 

"And  you?  Didn't  you  get  your  one  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars?" 

"No.  You  see,  it  was  a  C.  O.  D.  shipment. 
I  wake  up  along  about  noon,  put  my  head  under 
the  pump,  and  then  look  up  the  trader.  He  is  still 
playing  stud. 

"'Where's  my  casket?'  says  I.  'I've  got  my 
dead  man,  but  I  don't  collect  on  him  till  he's 
crated  and  f.  o.  b.'  The  trader  has  an  ace  in  the 
hole  and  two  kings  in  sight,  so  he  says  over  his 
shoulder : 

220 


TOLD    IN   THE    STORM 

"'I'm,  sorry,  old  man,  but  while  you  was 
asleep  a  tenderfoot  jumped  your  coffin.'  Now, 
this  Dawson  Sam  has  a  crooked  bank  dealer 
named — " 

"I  think  I'll  go  back  to  bed,"  said  I. 


THE   WEIGHT  OF  OBLIGATION 


is  the  story  of  a  burden,  the  tale  of  a  load 
A  that  irked  a  strong  man's  shoulders.  To 
those  who  do  not  know  the  North  it  may  seem 
strange,  but  to  those  who  understand  the  humors 
of  men  in  solitude,  and  the  extravagant  vagaries 
that  steal  in  upon  their  minds,  as  fog  drifts  with 
the  night,  it  will  not  appear  unusual.  There  are 
spirits  in  the  wilderness,  eerie  forces  which  play 
pranks;  some  droll  or  whimsical,  others  grim. 

Johnny  Cantwell  and  Mortimer  Grant  were 
partners,  trail-mates,  brothers  in  soul  if  not  in 
blood.  The  ebb  and  flood  of  frontier  life  had 
brought  them  together,  its  hardships  had  united 
them  until  they  were  as  one.  They  were  some- 
thing of  a  mystery  to  each  other,  neither  having 
surrendered  all  his  confidence,  and  because  of  this 
they  retained  their  mutual  attraction.  Had  they 
known  each  other  fully,  had_  they  thoroughly 
sounded  each  other's  depths,  they  would  have  lost 
interest,  just  like  husbands  and  wives  who  give 
themselves  too  freely  and  reserve  nothing. 

They  had  met  by  accident,  but  they  remained 
together  by  desire,  and  so  satisfactory  was  the 

225 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

union  that  not  even  the  jealousy  of  women  had 
come  between  them.  There  had  been  women,  of 
course,  just  as  there  had  been  adventures  of  other 
sorts,  but  the  love  of  the  partners  was  larger  and 
finer  than  anything  else  they  had  experienced. 
It  was  so  true  and  fine  and  unselfish,  in  fact,  that 
either  would  have  smilingly  relinquished  the 
woman  of  his  desires  had  the  other  wished  to 
possess  her.  They  were  young,  strong  men,  and 
the  world  was  full  of  sweethearts,  but  where  was 
there  a  partnership  like  theirs,  they  asked  them- 
selves. 

The  spirit  of  adventure  bubbled  merrily  within 
them,  too,  and  it  led  them  into  curious  byways. 
It  was  this  which  sent  them  northward  from  the 
States  in  the  dead  of  winter,  on  the  heels  of  the 
Stony  River  strike;  it  was  this  which  induced 
them  to  land  at  Katmai  instead  of  Illiamna, 
whither  their  land  journey  should  have  com- 
menced. 

"There  are  two  routes  over  the  coast  range," 
the  captain  of  the  Dora  told  them,  "and  only 
two.  Illiamna  Pass  is  low  and  easy,  but  the  dis- 
tance is  longer  than  by  way  of  Katmai.  I  can 
land  you  at  either  place." 

"Katmai  is  pretty  tough,  isn't  it?"  Grant  in- 
quired. 

"We've  understood  it's  the  worst  pass  in 
Alaska."  Cantwell's  eyes  were  eager. 

"It's  a  heller!  Nobody  travels  it  except  na- 
tives, and  they  don't  like  it.  Now,  Illiamna — " 

226 


THE   WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

"We'll  try  Katmai.     Eh,  Mort?" 

"Sure!  They  don't  come  hard  enough  for  us, 
Cap.  We'll  see  if  it's  as  bad  as  it's  painted." 

So,  one  gray  January  morning  they  were  landed 
on  a  frozen  beach,  their  outfit  was  flung  ashore 
through  the  surf,  the  life-boat  pulled  away,  and 
the  Dora  disappeared  after  a  farewell  toot  of  her 
whistle.  Their  last  glimpse  of  her  showed  the 
captain  waving  good-by  and  the  purser  flapping  a 
red  table-cloth  at  them  from  the  after-deck. 

"Cheerful  place,  this,"  Grant  remarked,  as  he 
noted  the  desolate  surroundings  of  dune  and  hill- 
side. 

The  beach  itself  was  black  and  raw  where  the 
surf  washed  it,  but  elsewhere  all  was  white,  save 
for  the  thickets  of  alder  and  willow  which  pro- 
truded nakedly.  The  bay  was  little  more  than  a 
hollow  scooped  out  of  the  Alaskan  range;  along 
the  foot-hills  behind  there  was  a  belt  of  spruce 
and  cottonwood  and  birch.  It  was  a  lonely  and 
apparently  unpeopled  wilderness  in  which  they 
had  been  set  down. 

"Seems  good  to  be  back  in  the  North  again, 
doesn't  it?"  said  Cantwell,  cheerily.  "I'm  tired 
of  the  booze,  and  the  street-cars,  and  the  dames, 
and  all  that  civilized  stuff.  I'd  rather  be  broke  in 
Alaska — with  you — than  a  banker's  son,  back 
home." 

Soon  a  globular  Russian  half-breed,  the  Katmai 
trader,  appeared  among  the  dunes,  and  with  him 
were  some  native  villagers.  That  night  the  part- 

227 


THE    WEIGHT   OF    OBLIGATION 

ners  slept  in  a  snug  log  cabin,  the  roof  of  which  was 
chained  down  with  old  ships'  cables.  Petellin,  the 
fat  little  trader,  explained  that  roofs  in  Katmai 
had  a  way  of  sailing  off  to  seaward  when  the  wind 
blew.  He  listened  to  their  plan  of  crossing  the 
divide  and  nodded. 

It  could  be  done,  of  course,  he  agreed,  but  they 
were  foolish  to  try  it,  when  the  Illiamna  route  was 
open.  Still,  now  that  they  were  here,  he  would 
find  dogs  for  them,  and  a  guide.  The  village 
hunters  were  out  after  meat,  however,  and  until 
they  returned  the  white  men  would  need  to  wait 
in  patience. 

There  followed  several  days  of  idleness,  during 
which  Cantwell  and  Grant  amused  themselves 
around  the  village,  teasing  the  squaws,  playing 
games  with  the  boys,  and  flirting  harmlessly  with 
the  girls,  one  of  whom,  in  particular,  was  not  un- 
attractive. She  was  perhaps  three-quarters  Aleut, 
the  other  quarter  being  plain  coquette,  and,  having 
been  educated  at  the  town  of  Kodiak,  she  knew 
the  ways  and  the  wiles  of  the  white  man. 

Cantwell  approached  her,  and  she  met  his  ex- 
travagant advances  more  than  half-way.  They 
were  getting  along  nicely  together  when  Grant, 
in  a  spirit  of  fun,  entered  the  game  and  won  her 
fickle  smiles  for  himself.  He  joked  his  partner 
unmercifully,  and  Johnny  accepted  defeat  grace- 
fully, never  giving  the  matter  a  second  thought. 

When  the  hunters  returned,  dogs  were  bought, 
a  guide  was  hired,  and,  a  week  after  landing,  the 

228 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

friends  were  camped  at  timber-line  awaiting  a 
favorable  moment  for  their  dash  across  the  range. 
Above  them  white  hillsides  rose  in  irregular  leaps 
to  the  gash  in  the  saw-toothed  barrier  which 
formed  the  pass;  below  them  a  short  valley  led 
down  to  Katmai  and  the  sea.  The  day  was 
bright,  the  air  clear,  nevertheless  after  the  guide 
had  stared  up  at  the  peaks  for  a  time  he  shook  his 
head,  then  re-entered  the  tent  and  lay  down. 
The  mountains  were  "smoking";  from  their  tops 
streamed  a  gossamer  veil  which  the  travelers  knew 
to  be  drifting  snow-clouds  carried  by  the  wind. 
It  meant  delay,  but  they  were  patient. 

They  were  up  and  going  on  the  following  morn- 
ing, however,  with  the  Indian  in  the  lead.  There 
was  no  trail;  the  hills  were  steep;  in  places  they 
were  forced  to  unload  the  sled  and  hoist  their  out- 
fit by  means  of  ropes,  and  as  they  mounted  higher 
the  snow  deepened.  It  lay  like  loose  sand,  only 
lighter;  it  shoved  ahead  of  the  sled  in  a  feathery 
mass;  the  dogs  wallowed  in  it  and  were  unable  to 
pull,  hence  the  greater  part  of  the  work  devolved 
upon  the  men.  Once  above  the  foot-hills  and 
into  the  range  proper,  the  going  became  more 
level,  but  the  snow  remained  knee-deep. 

The  Indian  broke  trail  stolidly;  the  partners 
strained  at  the  sled,  which  hung  back  like  a  leaden 
thing.  By  afternoon  the  dogs  had  become  dis- 
heartened and  refused  to  heed  the  whip.  There 
was  neither  fuel  nor  running  water,  and  therefore 
the  party  did  not  pause  for  luncheon.  The  men 

229 


THE    WEIGHT   OF    OBLIGATION 

were  sweating  profusely  from  their  exertions  and 
had  long  since  become  parched  with  thirst,  but  the 
dry  snow  was  like  chalk  and  scoured  their  throats. 

Cantwell  was  the  first  to  show  the  effects  of 
his  unusual  exertions,  for  not  only  had  he  assumed 
a  lion's  share  of  the  work,  but  the  last  few  months 
of  easy  living  had  softened  his  muscles,  and  in  con- 
sequence his  vitality  was  quickly  spent.  His  un- 
dergarments were  drenched;  he  was  fearfully  dry 
inside;  a  terrible  thirst  seemed  to  penetrate  his 
whole  body;  he  was  forced  to  rest  frequently. 

Grant  eyed  him  with  some  concern,  finally  in- 
quiring, "Feel  bad,  Johnny?" 

Cantwell  nodded.  Their  fatigue  made  both 
men  economical  of  language. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Thirsty!"     The  former  could  barely  speak. 

"There  won't  be  any  water  till  we  get  across. 
You'll  have  to  stand  it." 

They  resumed  their  duties;  the  Indian  "swish- 
swished"  ahead,  as  if  wading  through  a  sea  of 
swan's-down;  the  dogs  followed  listlessly;  the 
partners  leaned  against  the  stubborn  load. 

A  faint  breath  finally  came  out  of  the  north, 
causing  Grant  and  the  guide  to  study  the  sky 
anxiously.  Cantwell  was  too  weary  to  heed  the 
increasing  cold.  The  snow  on  the  slopes  above 
began  to  move;  here  and  there,  on  exposed 
ridges,  it  rose  in  clouds  and  puffs;  the  clean- 
cut  outlines  of  the  hills  became  obscured  as  by  a 
fog;  the  languid  wind  bit  cruelly. 

230 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

After  a  time  Johnny  fell  back  upon  the  sled  and 
exclaimed:  "I'm — all  in,  Mort.  Don't  seem  to 
have  the — guts."  He  was  pale,  his  eyes  were 
tortured.  He  scooped  a  mitten  full  of  snow  and 
raised  it  to  his  lips,  then  spat  it  out,  still  dry. 

"Here!  Brace  up!"  In  a  panic  of  apprehen- 
sion at  this  collapse  Grant  shook  him;  he  had 
never  known  Johnny  to  fail  like  this.  "Take  a 
drink  of  booze;  it  '11  do  you  good."  He  drew  a 
bottle  of  brandy  from  one  of  the  dunnage  bags 
and  Cantwell  seized  it  avidly.  It  was  wet;  it 
would  quench  his  thirst,  he  thought.  Before 
Mort  could  check  him  he  had  drunk  a  third  of  the 
contents. 

The  effect  was  almost  instantaneous,  for  Cant- 
well's  stomach  was  empty  and  his  tissues  seemed 
to  absorb  the  liquor  like  a  dry  sponge;  his  fatigue 
fell  away,  he  became  suddenly  strong  and  vigorous 
again.  But  before  he  had  gone  a  hundred  yards 
the  reaction  followed.  First  his  mind  grew  thick, 
then  his  limbs  became  unmanageable  and  his 
muscles  flabby.  He  was  drunk.  Yet  it  was  a 
strange  and  dangerous  intoxication,  against  which 
he  struggled  desperately.  He  fought  it  for  per- 
haps a  quarter  of  a  mile  before  it  mastered  him; 
then  he  gave  up. 

Both  men  knew  that  stimulants  are  never  taken 
on  the  trail,  but  they  had  never  stopped  to  reason 
why,  and  even  now  they  did  not  attribute  John- 
ny's breakdown  to  the  brandy.  After  a  while  he 
stumbled  and  fell,  then,  the  cool  snow  being 

231 


THE   WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

grateful  to  his  face,  he  sprawled  there  motionless 
until  Mort  dragged  him  to  the  sled.  He  stared 
at  his  partner  in  perplexity  and  laughed  foolishly. 
The  wind  was  increasing,  darkness  was  near,  they 
had  not  yet  reached  the  Bering  slope. 

Something  in  the  drunken  man's  face  frightened 
Grant  and,  extracting  a  ship's  biscuit  from  the 
grub-box,  he  said,  hurriedly:  "Here,  Johnny. 
Get  something  under  your  belt,  quick." 

Cantwell  obediently  munched  the  hard  cracker, 
but  there  was  no  moisture  on  his  tongue;  his 
throat  was  paralyzed;  the  crumbs  crowded  them- 
selves from  the  corners  of  his  lips.  He  tried  with 
limber  fingers  to  stuff  them  down,  or  to  assist 
the  muscular  action  of  swallowing,  but  finally 
expelled  them  in  a  cloud.  Mort  drew  the  parka 
hood  over  his  partner's  head,  for  the  wind  cut  like 
a  scythe  and  the  dogs  were  turning  tail  to  it, 
digging  holes  in  the  snow  for  protection.  The  air 
about  them  was  like  yeast;  the  light  was  fading. 

The  Indian  snow-shoed  his  way  back,  advising 
a  quick  camp  until  the  storm  abated,  but  to  this 
suggestion  Grant  refused  to  listen,  knowing  only 
too  well  the  peril  of  such  a  course.  Nor  did  he 
dare  take  Johnny  on  the  sled,  since  the  fellow  was 
half  asleep  already,  but  instead  whipped  up  the 
dogs  and  urged  his  companion  to  follow  as  best 
he  could. 

When  Cantwell  fell,  for  a  second  time,  he  re- 
turned, dragged  him  forward,  and  tied  his  wrists 
firmly,  yet  loosely,  to  the  load. 

232 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

The  storm  was  pouring  over  them  now,  like 
water  out  of  a  spout ;  it  seared  and  blinded  them ; 
its  touch  was  like  that  of  a  flame.  Nevertheless 
they  struggled  on  into  the  smother,  making  what 
headway  they  could.  The  Indian  led,  pulling  at 
the  end  of  a  rope;  Grant  strained  at  the  sled  and 
hoarsely  encouraged  the  dogs;  Cantwell  stumbled 
and  lurched  in  the  rear  like  an  unwilling  prisoner. 
When  he  fell  his  companion  lifted  him,  then 
beat  him,  cursed  him,  tried  in  every  way  to  rouse 
him  from  his  lethargy. 

After  an  interminable  time  they  found  they 
were  descending  and  this  gave  them  heart  to 
plunge  ahead  more  rapidly.  The  dogs  began  to 
trot  as  the  sled  overran  them ;  they  rushed  blindly 
into  gullies,  fetching  up  at  the  bottom  in  a  tangle, 
and  Johnny  followed  in  a  nerveless,  stupefied  con- 
dition. He  was  dragged  like  a  sack  of  flour,  for 
his  legs  were  limp  and  he  lacked  muscular  control, 
but  every  dash,  every  fall,  every  quick  descent 
drove  the  sluggish  blood  through  his  veins  and 
cleared  his  brain  momentarily.  Such  moments 
were  fleeting,  however;  much  of  the  time  his 
mind  was  a  blank,  and  it  was  only  by  a  mechanical 
effort  that  he  fought  off  unconsciousness. 

He  had  vague  memories  of  many  beatings  at 
Mort's  hands,  of  the  slippery  clean-swept  ice  of  a 
stream  over  which  he  limply  skidded,  of  being 
carried  into  a  tent  where  a  candle  flickered  and  a 
stove  roared.  Grant  was  holding  something  hot 
to  his  lips,  and  then — 
16  233 


THE   WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

It  was  morning.  He  was  weak  and  sick;  he 
felt  as  if  he  had  awakened  from  a  hideous  dream. 
"I  played  out,  didn't  I?"  he  queried,  wonder- 
ingly. 

"You  sure  did,"  Grant  laughed.  "It  was  a 
tight  squeak,  old  boy.  I  never  thought  I'd  get 
you  through." 

"Played  out!  I — can't  understand  it."  Cant- 
well  prided  himself  on  his  strength  and  stamina, 
therefore  the  truth  was  unbelievable.  He  and 
Mort  had  long  been  partners,  they  had  given  and 
taken  much  at  each  other's  hands,  but  this  was 
something  altogether  different.  Grant  had  saved 
his  life,  at  risk  of  his  own;  the  older  man's  en- 
durance had  been  the  greater  and  he  had  used 
it  to  good  advantage.  It  embarrassed  Johnny 
tremendously  to  realize  that  he  had  proven  un- 
equal to  his  share  of  the  work,  for  he  had  never 
before  experienced  such  an  obligation.  He  apolo- 
gized repeatedly  during  the  few  days  he  lay  sick, 
and  meanwhile  Mort  waited  upon  him  like  a 
mother. 

Cantwell  was  relieved  when  at  last  they  had 
abandoned  camp,  changed  guides  at  the  next 
village,  and  were  on  their  way  along  the  coast, 
for  somehow  he  felt  very  sensitive  about  his 
collapse.  He  was,  in  fact,  extremely  ashamed  of 
himself. 

Once  he  had  fully  recovered  he  had  no  further 
trouble,  but  soon  rounded  into  fit  condition  and 
showed  no  effects  of  his  ordeal.  Day  after  day 

234 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

he  and  Mort  traveled  through  the  solitudes,  their 
isolation  broken  only  by  occasional  glimpses  of 
native  villages,  where  they  rested  briefly  and  re- 
newed their  supply  of  dog-feed. 

But  although  the  younger  man  was  now  as  well 
and  strong  as  ever,  he  was  uncomfortably  conscious 
that  his  trail-mate  regarded  him  as  the  weaker  of 
the  two  and  shielded  him  in  many  ways.  Grant 
performed  most  of  the  unpleasant  tasks,  and  occa- 
sionally cautioned  Johnny  about  overdoing.  This 
protective  attitude  at  first  amused,  then  offended 
Cantwell;  it  galled  him  until  he  was  upon  the 
point  of  voicing  his  resentment,  but  reflected  that 
he  had  no  right  to  object,  for,  judging  by  past 
performances,  'he  had  proved  his  inferiority. 
This  uncomfortable  realization  forever  arose  to 
prevent  open  rebellion,  but  he  asserted  himself 
secretly  by  robbing  Grant  of  his  self-appointed 
tasks.  He  rose  first  in  the  mornings,  he  did  the 
cooking,  he  lengthened  his  turns  ahead  of  the  dogs, 
he  mended  harness  after  the  day's  hike  had  ended. 
Of  course  the  older  man  objected,  and  for  a  time 
they  had  a  good-natured  rivalry  as  to  who  should 
work  and  who  should  rest — only  it  was  not  quite 
so  good-natured  on  Cant  well's  part  as  he  made  it 
appear. 

Mort  broke  out  in  friendly  irritation  one  day: 
"Don't  try  to  do  everything,  Johnny.  Remem- 
ber I'm  no  cripple." 

"Humph!  You  proved  that.  I  guess  it's  up 
to  me  to  do  your  work." 

235 


THE   WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

"Oh,  forget  that  day  on  the  pass,  can't  you?" 

Johnny  grunted  a  second  time,  and  from  his 
tone  it  was  evident  that  he  would  never  forget, 
unpleasant  though  the  memory  remained.  Sensing 
his  sullen  resentment,  the  other  tried  to  rally  him, 
but  made  a  bad  job  -of  it.  The  humor  of  men  in 
the  open  is  not  delicate;  their  wit  and  their  words 
become  coarsened  in  direct  proportion  as  they 
revert  to  the  primitive;  it  is  one  effect  of  the 
solitudes. 

Grant  spoke  extravagantly,  mockingly,  of  his 
own  superiority  in  a  way  which  ordinarily  would 
have  brought  a  smile  to  Cantwell's  lips,  but  the 
latter  did  not  smile.  He  taunted  Johnny  hu- 
morously on  his  lack  of  physical  prowess,  his  lack 
of  good  looks  and  manly  qualities — something 
which  had  never  failed  to  result  in  a  friendly 
exchange  of  badinage;  he  even  teased  him  about 
his  defeat  with  the  Katmai  girl. 

Cantwell  did  respond  finally,  but  afterward  he 
found  himself  wondering  if  Mort  could  have  been 
in  earnest.  He  dismissed  the  thought  with  some 
impatience.  But  men  on  the  trail  have  too  much 
time  for  their  thoughts;  there  is  nothing  in  the 
monotonous  routine  of  the  day's  work  to  distract 
them,  so  the  partner  who  had  played  out  dwelt 
more  and  more  upon  his  debt  and  upon  his  friend's 
easy  assumption  of  pre-eminence.  The  weight  of 
obligation  began  to  chafe  him,  lightly  at  first,  but 
with  ever-increasing  discomfort.  He  began  to 
think  that  Grant  honestly  considered  himself  the 

236 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

better  man,  merely  because  chance  had  played 
into  his  hands. 

It  was  silly,  even  childish,  to  dwell  on  the  sub- 
ject, he  reflected,  and  yet  he  could  not  banish 
it  from  his  mind.  It  was  always  before  him,  in 
one  form  or  another.  He  felt  the  strength  in  his 
lean  muscles,  and  sneered  at  the  thought  that 
Mort  should  be  deceived.  If  it  came  to  a  physical 
test  he  felt  sure  he  could  break  his  slighter  partner 
with  his  bare  hands,  and  as  for  endurance — well, 
he  was  hungry  for  a  chance  to  demonstrate  it. 

They  talked  little;  men  seldom  converse  in  the 
wastes,  for  there  is  something  about  the  silence 
of  the  wilderness  which  discourages  speech. 
And  no  land  is  so  grimly  silent,  so  hushed  and 
soundless,  as  the  frozen  North.  For  days  they 
marched  through  desolation,  without  glimpse  of 
human  habitation,  without  sight  of  track  or  trail, 
without  sound  of  a  human  voice  to  break  the 
monotony.  There  was  no  game  in  the  country, 
with  the  exception  of  an  occasional  bird  or  rabbit, 
nothing  but  the  white  hills,  the  fringe  of  alder- 
tops  along  the  watercourses,  and  the  thickets  of 
gnarled,  unhealthy  spruce  in  the  smothered  valleys. 

Their  destination  was  a  mysterious  stream  at 
the  headwaters  of  the  unmapped  Kuskokwim, 
where  rumor  said  there  was  gold,  and  whither  they 
feared  other  men  were  hastening  from  the  mining 
country  far  to  the  north. 

Now  it  is  a  penalty  of  the  White  Country  that 
men  shall  think  of  women.  The  open  life  brings 

237 


THE   WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

health  and  vigor,  strength  and  animal  vitality,  and 
these  clamor  for  play.  The  cold  of  the  still,  clear 
days  is  no  more  biting  than  the  fierce  memories 
and  appetites  which  charge  through  the  brain  at 
night.  Passions  intensify  with  imprisonment,  rec- 
ollections come  to  life,  longings  grow  vivid  and 
wild.  Thoughts  change  to  realities,  the  past 
creeps  close,  and  dream  figures  are  filled  with 
blood  and  fire.  One  remembers  pleasures  and 
excesses,  women's  smiles,  women's  kisses,  the  in- 
vitation of  outstretched  arms.  Wasted  oppor- 
tunities mock  at  one. 

Cantwell  began  to  brood  upon  the  Katmai  girl, 
for  she  was  the  last;  her  eyes  were  haunting  and 
distance  had  worked  its  usual  enchantment.  He 
reflected  that  Mort  had  shouldered  him  aside 
and  won  her  favor,  then  boasted  of  it.  Johnny 
awoke  one  night  with  a  dream  of  her,  and  lay 
quivering. 

"Hell!  She  was  only  a  squaw,"  he  said,  half 
aloud.  "If  I'd  really  tried—" 

Grant  lay  beside  him,  snoring,  the  heat  of  their 
bodies  intermingled.  The  waking  man  tried  to 
compose  himself,  but  his  partner's  stertorous 
breathing  irritated  him  beyond  measure;  for  a 
long  time  he  remained  motionless,  staring  into  the 
gray  blur  of  the  tent-top.  He  had  played  out. 
He  owed  his  life  to  the  man  who  had  cheated  him 
of  the  Katmai  girl,  and  that  man  knew  it.  He 
had  become  a  weak,  helpless  thing,  dependent 
upon  another's  strength,  and  that  other  now 

238 


THE   WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

accepted  his  superiority  as  a  matter  of  course. 
The  obligation  was  insufferable,  and — it  was  un- 
just. The  North  had  played  him  a  devilish  trick, 
it  had  betrayed  him,  it  had  bound  him  to  his 
benefactor  with  chains  of  gratitude  which  were 
irksome.  Had  they  been  real  chains  they  could 
have  galled  him  no  more  than  at  this  moment. 

As  time  passed  the  men  spoke  less  frequently 
to  each  other.  Grant  joshed  his  mate  roughly, 
once  or  twice,  masking  beneath  an  assumption  of 
jocularity  his  own  vague  irritation  at  the  change 
that  had  come  over  them.  It  was  as  if  he  had 
probed  at  an  open  wound  with  clumsy  fingers. 

Cantwell  had  by  this  time  assumed  most  of 
those  petty  camp  tasks  which  provoke  tired 
trailers,  those  humdrum  duties  which  are  so  try- 
ing to  exhausted  nerves,  and  of  course  they  wore 
upon  him  as  they  wear  upon  every  man.  But,  once 
he  had  taken  them  over,  he  began  to  resent  Grant's 
easy  relinquishment ;  it  rankled  him  to  realize 
how  willingly  the  other  allowed  him  to  do  the 
cooking,  the  dish-washing,  the  fire-building,  the 
bed-making.  Little  monotonies  of  this  kind  form 
the  hardest  part  of  winter  travel,  they  are  the 
rocks  upon  which  friendships  founder  and  part- 
nerships are  wrecked.  Out  on  the  trail,  nature 
equalizes  the  work  to  a  great  extent,  and  no  man 
can  shirk  unduly,  but  in  camp,  inside  the  cramped 
confines  of  a  tent  pitched  on  boughs  laid  over  the 
snow,  it  is  very  different.  There  one  must  busy 
himself  while  the  other  rests  and  keeps  his  legs 

239 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

out  of  the  way  if  possible.  One  man  sits  on  the 
bedding  at  the  rear  of  the  shelter,  and  shivers, 
while  the  other  squats  over  a  tantalizing  fire  of 
green  wood,  blistering  his  face  and  parboiling  his 
limbs  inside  his  sweaty  clothing.  Dishes  must  be 
passed,  food  divided,  and  it  is  poor  food,  poorly 
prepared  at  best.  Sometimes  men  criticize  and 
voice  longings  for  better  grub  and  better  cooking. 
Remarks  of  this  kind  have  been  known  to  result  in 
tragedies,  bitter  words  and  flaming  curses — then, 
perhaps,  wild  actions,  memories  of  which  the 
later  years  can  never  erase. 

It  is  but  one  prank  of  the  wilderness,  one  grim 
manifestation  of  its  silent  forces. 

Had  Grant  been  unable  to  do  his  part  Cantwell 
would  have  willingly  accepted  the  added  burden, 
but  Mort  was  able,  he  was  nimble  and  "handy," 
he  was  the  better  cook  of  the  two;  in  fact,  he  was 
the  better  man  in  every  way — or  so  he  believed. 
Cantwell  sneered  at  the  last  thought,  and  the 
memory  of  his  debt  was  like  bitter  medicine. 

His  resentment — in  reality  nothing  more  than 
a  phase  of  insanity  begot  of  isolation  and  silence — 
could  not  help  but  communicate  itself  to  his  com- 
panion, and  there  resulted  a  mutual  antagonism, 
which  grew  into  a  dislike,  then  festered  into  some- 
thing more,  something  strange,  reasonless,  yet 
terribly  vivid  and  amazingly  potent  for  evil. 
Neither  man  ever  mentioned  it — their  tongues 
were  clenched  between  their  teeth  and  they  held 
themselves  in  check  with  harsh  hands — but  it  was 

240 


THE    WEIGHT   OF    OBLIGATION 

constantly  in  their  minds,  nevertheless.  No  man 
who  has  not  suffered  the  manifold  irritations  of 
such  an  intimate  association  can  appreciate  the 
gnawing  canker  of  animosity  like  this.  It  was 
dangerous  because  there  was  no  relief  from  it: 
the  two  were  bound  together  as  by  gyves;  they 
shared  each  other's  every  action  and  every  plan; 
they  trod  in  each  other's  tracks,  slept  in  the  same 
bed,  ate  from  the  same  plate.  They  were  like 
prisoners  ironed  to  the  same  staple. 

Each  fought  the  obsession  in  his  own  way,  but 
it  is  hard  to  fight  the  impalpable,  hence  their  sick 
fancies  grew  in  spite  of  themselves.  Their  minds 
needed  food  to  prey  upon,  but  found  none.  Each 
began  to  criticize  the  other  silently,  to  sneer  at  his 
weaknesses,  to  meditate  derisively  upon  his  pe- 
culiarities. After  a  time  they  no  longer  resist- 
ed the  advance  of  these  poisonous  thoughts,  but 
welcomed  it. 

On  more  than  one  occasion  the  embers  of  their 
wrath  were  upon  the  point  of  bursting  into  flame, 
but  each  realized  that  the  first  ill-considered  word 
would  serve  to  slip  the  leash  from  those  demons 
that  were  straining  to  go  free,  and  so  managed  to 
restrain  himself. 

The  crisis  came  one  crisp  morning  when  a  dog- 
team  whirled  around  a  bend  in  the  river  and  a 
white  man  hailed  them.  He  was  the  mail-carrier, 
on  his  way  out  from  Nome,  and  he  brought  news 
of  the  "inside." 

"Where  are  you  boys  bound  for?"  he  inquired 
241 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

when  greetings  were  over  and  gossip  of  the  trail 
had  passed. 

"We're  going  to  the  Stony  River  strike,"  Grant 
told  him. 

"Stony  River?    Up  the  Kuskokwim?" 

"Yes!" 

The  mail-man  laughed.  "Can  you  beat  that? 
'Ain't  you  heard  about  Stony  River?" 

"No!" 

"Why,  it's  a  fake — no  such  place." 

There  was  a  silence;  the  partners  avoided  each 
other's  eyes. 

"MacDonald,  the  fellow  that  started  it,  is  on 
his  way  to  Dawson.  There's  a  gang  after  him, 
too,  and  if  he's  caught  it  '11  go  hard  with  him. 
He  wrote  the  letters — to  himself — and  spread  the 
news  just  to  raise  a  grub-stake.  He  cleaned  up 
big  before  they  got  onto  him.  He  peddled  his 
tips  for  real  money." 

' '  Yes !"  Grant  spoke  quietly.  ' '  Johnny  bought 
one.  That's  what  brought  us  from  Seattle.  We 
went  out  on  the  last  boat  and  figured  we'd  come 
in  from  this  side  before  the  break-up.  So — fake! 
By  God!" 

"Gee!  You  fellers  bit  good."  The  mail- 
carrier  shook  his  head.  "Well!  You'd  better 
keep  going  now;  you'll  get  to  Nome  before  the 
season  opens.  Better  take  dog-fish  from  Bethel — 
it's  four  bits  a  pound  on  the  Yukon.  Sorry  I 
didn't  hit  your  camp  last  night;  we'd  'a'  had  a 
visit.  Tell  the  gang  that  you  saw  me."  He 

242 


THE   WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

shook  hands  ceremoniously,  yelled  at  his  panting 
dogs,  and  went  swiftly  on  his  way,  waving  a  mitten 
on  high  as  he  vanished  around  the  next  bend. 

The  partners  watched  him  go,  then  Grant 
turned  to  Johnny,  and  repeated:  "Fake!  By 
God!  MacDonald  stung  you." 

Cantwell's  face  went  as  white  as  the  snow  behind 
him,  his  eyes  blazed.  "Why  did  you  tell  him  I 
bit?"  he  demanded,  harshly. 

"Hunh!  Didn't  you  bite?  Two  thousand 
miles  afoot;  three  months  of  hell;  for  nothing. 
That's  biting  some." 

"Well!"  The  speaker's  face  was  convulsed, 
and  Grant's  flamed  with  an  answering  anger. 
They  glared  at  each  other  for  a  moment.  "Don't 
blame  me.  You  fell  for  it,  too." 

"I—       Mort  checked  his  rushing  words. 

"Yes,  you!  Now,  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?  Welch?" 

"I'm  going  through  to  Nome."  The  sight  of 
his  partner's  rage  had  set  Mort  to  shaking  with  a 
furious  desire  to  fly  at  his  throat,  but,  fortunately, 
he  retained  a  spark  of  sanity. 

"Then  shut  up,  and  quit  chewing  the  rag. 
You — talk  too  damned  much." 

Mort's  eyes  were  bloodshot;  they  fell  upon  the 
carbine  under  the  sled  lashings,  and  lingered 
there,  then  wavered.  He  opened  his  lips,  re- 
considered, spoke  softly  to  the  team,  then  lifted 
the  heavy  dog-whip  and  smote  the  malamutes 
with  all  his  strength. 

243 


THE   WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

The  men  resumed  their  journey  without  further 
words,  but  each  was  cursing  inwardly. 

"So!  I  talk  too  much,"  Grant  thought.  The 
accusation  struck  in  his  mind  and  he  determined 
to  speak  no  more. 

"He  blames  me,"  Cantwell  reflected,  bitterly. 
"I'm  in  wrong  again  and  he  couldn't  keep  his 
mouth  shut.  A  hell  of  a  partner,  he  is!" 

All  day  they  plodded  on,  neither  trusting  him- 
self to  speak.  They  ate  their  evening  meal  like 
mutes;  they  avoided  each  other's  eyes.  Even 
the  guide  noticed  the  change  and  looked  on 
curiously. 

There  were  two  robes  and  these  the  partners 
shared  nightly,  but  their  hatred  had  grown  so 
during  the  past  few  hours  that  the  thought  of 
lying  side  by  side,  limb  to  limb,  was  distasteful. 
Yet  neither  dared  suggest  a  division  of  the  bed- 
ding, for  that  would  have  brought  further  words 
and  resulted  in  the  crash  which  they  longed  for, 
but  feared.  They  stripped  off  their  furs,  and  lay 
down  beside  each  other  with  the  same  repugnance 
they  would  have  felt  had  there  been  a  serpent  in 
the  couch. 

This  unending  malevolent  silence  became  terri- 
ble. The  strain  of  it  increased,  for  each  man  now 
had  something  definite  to  cherish  in  the  words  and 
the  looks  that  had  passed.  They  divided  the 
camp  work  with  scrupulous  nicety,  each  man 
waited  upon  himself  and  asked  no  favors.  The 
knowledge  of  his  debt  forever  chafed  Cantwell; 

244 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

Grant  resented  his  companion's  lack  of  grati- 
tude. 

Of  course  they  spoke  occasionally — it  was 
beyond  human  endurance  to  remain  entirely 
dumb — but  they  conversed  in  monosyllables, 
about  trivial  things,  and  their  voices  were  throaty, 
as  if  the  effort  choked  them.  Meanwhile  they 
continued  to  glow  inwardly  at  a  white  heat. 

Cantwell  no  longer  felt  the  desire  to  merely 
match  his  strength  against  Grant's;  the  estrange- 
ment had  become  too  wide  for  that;  a  physical 
victory  would  have  been  flat  and  tasteless;  he 
craved  some  deeper  satisfaction.  He  began  to 
think  of  the  ax — just  how  or  when  or  why  he 
never  knew.  It  was  a  thin-bladed,  polished  thing 
of  frosty  steel,  and  the  more  he  thought  of  it  the 
stronger  grew  his  impulse  to  rid  himself  once  for 
all  of  that  presence  which  exasperated  him.  It 
would  be  very  easy,  he  reasoned;  a  sudden  blow, 
with  the  weight  of  his  shoulders  behind  it — he 
fancied  he  could  feel  the  bit  sink  into  Grant's 
flesh,  cleaving  bone  and  cartilages  in  its  course — 
a  slanting  downward  stroke,  aimed  at  the  neck 
where  it  joined  the  body,  and  he  would  be  forever 
satisfied.  It  would  be  ridiculously  simple.  He 
practised  in  the  gloom  of  evening  as  he  felled 
spruce- trees  for  fire- wood;  he  guarded  the  ax 
religiously;  it  became  a  living  thing  which  urged 
him  on  to  violence.  He  saw  it  standing  by  the 
tent-fly  when  he  closed  his  eyes  to  sleep;  he 
dreamed  of  it;  he  sought  it  out  with  his  eyes 

245 


THE   WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

when  he  first  awoke.  He  slid  it  loosely  under  the 
sled  lashings  every  morning,  thinking  that  its 
use  could  not  long  be  delayed. 

As  for  Grant,  the  carbine  dwelt  forever  in  his 
mind,  and  his  fingers  itched  for  it.  He  secretly 
slipped  a  cartridge  into  the  chamber,  and  when  an 
occasional  ptarmigan  offered  itself  for  a  target  he 
saw  the  white  spot  on  the  breast  of  Johnny's  rein- 
deer parka,  dancing  ahead  of  the  Lyman  bead. 

The  solitude  had  done  its  work;  the  North  had 
played  its  grim  comedy  to  the  final  curtain,  mak- 
ing sport  of  men's  affections  and  turning  love  to 
rankling  hate.  But  into  the  mind  of  each  man 
crept  a  certain  craftiness.  Each  longed  to  strike, 
but  feared  to  face  the  consequences.  It  was  lone- 
some, here  among  the  white  hills  and  the  deathly 
silences,  yet  they  reflected  that  it  would  be  still 
more  lonesome  if  they  were  left  to  keep  step  with 
nothing  more  substantial  than  a  memory.  They 
determined,  therefore,  to  wait  until  civilization 
was  nearer,  meanwhile  rehearsing  the  moment  they 
knew  was  inevitable.  Over  and  over  in  their 
thoughts  each  of  them  enacted  the  scene,  ending 
it  always  with  the  picture  of  a  prostrate  man  in  a 
patch  of  trampled  snow  which  grew  crimson  as 
the  other  gloated. 

They  paused  at  Bethel  Mission  long  enough  to 
load  with  dried  salmon,  then  made  the  ninety- 
mile  portage  over  lake  and  tundra  to  the  Yukon. 
There  they  got  their  first  touch  of  the  "inside" 
world.  They  camped  in  a  barabara  where  white 

246 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

men  had  slept  a  few  nights  before,  and  heard 
their  own  language  spoken  by  native  tongues. 
The  time  was  growing  short  now,  and  they  pur- 
posely dismissed  their  guide,  knowing  that  the 
trail  was  plain  from  there  on.  When  they  hitched 
up,  on  the  next  morning,  Cantwell  placed  the  ax, 
bit  down,  between  the  tarpaulin  and  the  sled  rail, 
leaving  the  helve  projecting  where  his  hand  could 
reach  it.  Grant  thrust  the  barrel  of  the  rifle  be- 
neath a  lashing,  with  the  butt  close  by  the  handle- 
bars, and  it  was  loaded. 

A  mile  from  the  village  they  were  overtaken  by 
an  Indian  and  his  squaw,  traveling  light  behind 
hungry  dogs.  The  natives  attached  themselves 
to  the  white  men  and  hung  stubbornly  to  their 
heels,  taking  advantage  of  their  tracks.  When 
night  came  they  camped  alongside,  in  the  hope 
of  food.  They  announced  that  they  were  bound 
for  St.  Michaels,  and  in  spite  of  every  effort  to 
shake  them  off  they  remained  close  behind  the 
partners  until  that  point  was  reached. 

At  St.  Michaels  there  were  white  men,  prac- 
tically the  first  Johnny  and  Mort  had  encountered 
since  landing  at  Katmai,  and  for  a  day  at  least 
they  were  sane.  But  there  were  still  three  hun- 
dred miles  to  be  traveled,  three  hundred  miles  of 
solitude  and  haunting  thoughts.  Just  as  they 
were  about  to  start,  Cantwell  came  upon  Grant 
and  the  A.  C.  agent,  and  heard  his  name  pro- 
nounced, also  the  word  "Katmai."  He  noted 
that  Mort  fell  silent  at  his  approach,  and  instantly 

247 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

his  anger  blazed  afresh.  He  decided  that  the 
latter  had  been  telling  the  story  of  their  ex- 
perience on  the  pass  and  boasting  of  his  service. 
So  much  the  better,  he  thought,  in  a  blind  rage; 
that  which  he  planned  doing  would  appear  all  the 
more  like  an  accident,  for  who  would  dream  that  a 
man  could  kill  the  person  to  Whom  he  owed  his  life? 

That  night  he  waited  for  a  chance. 

They  were  camped  in  a  dismal  hut  on  a  wind- 
swept shore;  they  were  alone.  But  Grant  was 
waiting  also,  it  seemed.  They  lay  down  beside 
each  other,  ostensibly  to  sleep;  their  limbs 
touched;  the  warmth  from  their  bodies  inter- 
mingled, but  they  did  not  close  their  eyes. 

They  were  up  and  away  early,  with  Nome 
drawing  rapidly  nearer.  They  had  skirted  an 
ocean,  foot  by  foot;  Bering  Sea  lay  behind  them, 
now,  and  its  northern  shore  swung  westward  to 
their  goal.  For  two  months  they  had  lived  in 
silent  animosity,  feeding  on  bitter  food  while 
their  elbows  rubbed. 

Noon  found  them  floundering  through  one  of 
those  unheralded  storms  which  make  coast  travel 
so  hazardous.  The  morning  had  turned  off  gray, 
the  sky  was  of  a  leaden  hue  which  blended  per- 
fectly with  the  snow  underfoot,  there  was  no 
horizon,  it  was  impossible  to  see  more  than  a  few 
yards  in  any  direction.  The  trail  soon  became 
obliterated  and  their  eyes  began  to  play  tricks. 
For  all  they  could  distinguish,  they  might  have 
been  suspended  in<  space;  they  seemed  to  be 

248 


THE    WEIGHT   OF    OBLIGATION 

treading  the  measures  of  an  endless  dance  in  the 
center  of  a  whirling  cloud.  Of  course  it  was  cold, 
for  the  wind  off  the  open  sea  was  damp,  but  they 
were  not  men  to  turn  back. 

They  soon  discovered  that  their  difficulty  lay 
not  in  facing  the  storm,  but  in  holding  to  the 
trail.  That  narrow,  two-foot  causeway,  packed 
by  a  winter's  travel  and  frozen  into  a  ribbon  of 
ice  by  a  winter's  frosts,  afforded  their  only  avenue 
of  progress,  for  the  moment  they  left  it  the  sled 
plowed  into  the  loose  snow,  well-nigh  disappearing 
and  bringing  the  dogs  to  a  standstill.  It  was  the 
duty  of  the  driver,  in  such  case,  to  wallow  forward, 
right  the  load  if  necessary,  and  lift  it  back  into 
place.  These  mishaps  were  forever  occurring, 
for  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  the  trail 
beneath  its  soft  covering.  However,  if  the 
driver's  task  was  hard  it  was  no  more  trying  than 
that  of  the  man  ahead,  who  was  compelled  to  feel 
out  and  explore  the  ridge  of  hardened  snow  and 
ice  with  his  feet,  after  the  fashion  of  a  man 
walking  a  plank  in  the  dark.  Frequently  he 
lunged  into  the  drifts  with  one  foot,  or  both; 
his  glazed  mukluk  soles  slid  about,  causing  him 
to  bestride  the  invisible  hog-back,  or  again  his 
legs  crossed  awkwardly,  throwing  him  off  his 
balance.  At  times  he  wandered  away  from  the 
path  entirely  and  had  to  search  it  out  again. 
These  exertions  were  very  wearing  and  they  were 
dangerous,  also,  for  joints  are  easily  dislocated, 
muscles  twisted,  and  tendons  strained. 

17  249 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

Hour  after  hour  the  march  continued,  unrelieved 
by  any  change,  unbroken  by  any  speck  or  spot 
of  color.  The  nerves  of  their  eyes,  wearied  by 
constant  near-sighted  peering  at  the  snow,  began 
to  jump  so  that  vision  became  untrustworthy. 
Both  travelers  appreciated  the  necessity  of  cling- 
ing to  the  trail,  for, once  they  lost  it,  they  knew  they 
might  wander  about  indefinitely  until  they  chanced 
to  regain  it  or  found  their  way  to  the  shore,  while 
always  to  seaward  was  the  menace  of  open  water, 
of  air-holes,  or  cracks  which  might  gape  beneath 
their  feet  like  jaws.  Immersion  in  this  tempera- 
ture, no  matter  how  brief,  meant  death. 

The  monotony  of  progress  through  this  unreal, 
leaden  world  became  almost  unbearable.  The  re- 
peated strainings  and  twistings  they  suffered  in 
walking  the  slippery  ridge  reduced  the  men  to 
weariness;  their  legs  grew  clumsy  and  their  feet 
uncertain.  Had  they  found  a  camping-place  they 
would  have  stopped,  but  they  dared  not  forsake  the 
thin  thread  that  linked  them  with  safety  to  go  and 
look  for  one,  not  knowing  where  the  shore  lay.  In 
storms  of  this  kind  men  have  lain  in  their  sleep- 
ing-bags for  days  within  a  stone's-throw  of  a  road- 
house  or  village.  Bodies  have  been  found  within 
a  hundred  yards  of  shelter  after  blizzards  have 
abated. 

Cantwell  and  Grant  had  no  choice,  therefore, 
except  to  bore  into  the  welter  of  drifting  flakes. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  latter 
met  with  an  accident.  Johnny,  who  had  taken 

250 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

a  spell  at  the  rear,  heard  him  cry  out,  saw  him 
stagger,  struggle  to  hold  his  footing,  then  sink 
into  the  snow.  The  dogs  paused  instantly,  lay 
down,  and  began  to  strip  the  ice  pellets  from 
between  their  toes. 

Cantwell  spoke  harshly,  leaning  upon  the 
handle-bars:  "Well!  What's  the  idea?" 

It  was  the  longest  sentence  of  the  day. 

"I've — hurt  myself."  Mort's  voice  was  thin 
and  strange ;  he  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture, 
and  reached  beneath  his  parka,  then  lay  back 
weakly.  He  writhed,  his  face  was  twisted  with 
pain.  He  continued  to  lie  there,  doubled  into  a 
knot  of  suffering.  A  groan  was  wrenched  from 
between  his  teeth. 

' '  Hurt  ?    How  ? ' '  Johnny  inquired,  dully. 

It  seemed  very  ridiculous  to  see  that  strong  man 
kicking  around  in  the  snow. 

"I've  ripped  something  loose — here."  Mort's 
palms  were  pressed  in  upon  his  groin,  his  fingers 
were  clutching  something.  "Ruptured — I  guess." 
He  tried  again  to  rise,  but  sank  back.  His  cap 
had  fallen  off  and  his  forehead  glistened  with 
sweat. 

Cantwell  went  forward  and  lifted  him.  It  was 
the  first  time  in  many  days  that  their  hands  had 
touched,  and  the  sensation  affected  him  strangely. 
He  struggled  to  repress  a  devilish  mirth  at  the 
thought  that  Grant  had  played  out — it  amounted 
to  that  and  nothing  less;  the  trail  had  delivered 
him  into  his  enemy's  hands,  his  hour  had  struck. 

251 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

Johnny  determined  to  square  the  debt  now,  once 
for  all,  and  wipe  his  own  mind  clean  of  that  poison 
which  corroded  it.  His  muscles  were  strong,  his 
brain  clear,  he  had  never  felt  his  strength  so 
irresistible  as  at  this  moment,  while  Mort,  for  all 
his  boasted  superiority,  was  nothing  but  a  nerve- 
less thing  hanging  limp  against  his  breast.  Provi- 
dence had  arranged  it  all.  The  younger  man  was 
impelled  to  give  raucous  voice  to  his  glee,  and  yet — 
his  helpless  burden  exerted  an  odd  effect  upon 
him. 

He  deposited  his  foe  upon  the  sled  and  stared 
at  the  face  he  had  not  met  for  many  days.  He 
saw  how  white  it  was,  how  wet  and  cold,  how 
weak  and  dazed,  then  as  he  looked  he  cursed 
inwardly,  for  the  triumph  of  his  moment  was 
spoiled. 

The  ax  was  there,  its  polished  bit  showed  like  a 
piece  of  ice,  its  helve  protruded  handily,  but  there 
was  no  need  of  it  now;  his  fingers  were  all  the 
weapons  Johnny  needed;  they  were  more  than  suf- 
ficient, in  fact,  for  Mort  was  like  a  child. 

Cantwell  was  a  strong  man,  and,  although  the 
North  had  coarsened  him,  yet  underneath  the  sur- 
face was  a  chivalrous  regard  for  all  things  weak, 
and  this  the  trail  -  madness  had  not  affected. 
He  had  longed  for  this  instant,  but  now  that  it 
had  come  he  felt  no  enjoyment,  since  he  could 
not  harm  a  sick  man  and  waged  no  war  on  cripples. 
Perhaps,  when  Mort  had  rested,  they  could  settle 
their  quarrel;  this  was  as  good  a  place  as  any. 

252 


THE    WEIGHT   OF    OBLIGATION 

The  storm  hid  them,  they  would  leave  no  traces, 
there  could  be  no  interruption. 

But  Mort  did  not  rest.  He  could  not  walk; 
movement  brought  excruciating  pain. 

Finally  Cantwell  heard  himself  saying:  "Better 
wrap  up  and  lie  still  for  a  while.  I'll  get  the  dogs 
underway. ' '  His  words  amazed  him  dully.  They 
were  not  at  all  what  he  had  intended  to  say. 

The  injured  man  demurred,  but  the  other  in- 
sisted gruffly,  then  brought  him  his  mittens  and 
cap,  slapping  the  snow  out  of  them  before  rousing 
the  team  to  motion.  The  load  was  very  heavy 
now,  the  dogs  had  no  footprints  to  guide  them, 
and  it  required  all  of  Cant  well's  efforts  to  prevent 
capsizing.  Night  approached  swiftly,  the  whirling 
snow  particles  continued  to  flow  past  upon  the 
wind,  shrouding  the  earth  in  an  impenetrable  pall. 

The  journey  soon  became  a  terrible  ordeal,  a 
slow,  halting  progress  that  led  nowhere  and  was 
accomplished  at  the  cost  of  tremendous  exertion. 
Time  after  time  Johnny  broke  trail,  then  returned 
and  urged  the  huskies  forward  to  the  end  of  his 
tracks.  When  he  lost  the  path  he  sought  it  out, 
laboriously  hoisted  the  sledge  back  into  place,  and 
coaxed  his  four-footed  helpers  to  renewed  effort. 
He  was  drenched  with  perspiration,  his  inner  gar- 
ments were  steaming,  his  outer  ones  were  frozen 
into  a  coat  of  armor;  when  he  paused  he  chilled 
rapidly.  His  vision  was  untrustworthy,  also,  and 
he  felt  snow-blindness  coming  on.  Grant  begged 
him  more  than  once  to  unroll  the  bedding  and 

253 


THE   WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

prepare  to  sleep  out  the  storm;  he  even  urged 
Johnny  to  leave  him  and  make  a  dash  for  his  own 
safety,  but  at  this  the  younger  man  cursed  and 
told  him  to  hold  his  tongue. 

Night  found  the  lone  driver  slipping,  plunging, 
lurching  ahead  of  the  dogs,  or  shoving  at  the 
handle-bars  and  shouting  at  the  dogs.  Finally, 
during  a  pause  for  rest  he  heard  a  sound  which 
roused  him.  Out  of  the  gloom  to  the  right  came 
the  faint,  complaining  howl  of  a  malamute;  it  was 
answered  by  his  own  dogs,  and  the  next  moment 
they  had  caught  a  scent  which  swerved  them 
shoreward  and  led  them  scrambling  through  the 
drifts.  Two  hundred  yards,  and  a  steep  bank 
loomed  above,  up  and  over  which  they  rushed, 
with  Cantwell  yelling  encouragement;  then  a 
light  showed,  and  they  were  in  the  lee  of  a  low- 
roofed  hut. 

A  sick  native,  huddled  over  a  Yukon  stove, 
made  them  welcome  to  his  mean  abode,  explaining 
that  his  wife  and  son  had  gone  to  Unalaklik  for 
supplies. 

Johnny  carried  his  partner  to  the  one  unoccupied 
bunk  and  stripped  his  clothes  from  him.  With 
his  own  hands  he  rubbed  the  warmth  back  into 
Mortimer's  limbs,  then  swiftly  prepared  hot  food, 
and,  holding  him  in  the  hollow  of  his  aching  arm, 
fed  him,  a  little  at  a  time.  He  was  like  to  drop 
from  exhaustion,  but  he  made  no  complaint. 
With  one  folded  robe  he  made  the  hard  boards 
comfortable,  then  spread  the  other  as  a  covering. 

254 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

For  himself  he  sat  beside  the  fire  and  fought  his 
weariness.  When  he  dozed  off  and  the  cold 
awakened  him,  he  renewed  the  fire;  he  heated 
beef-tea,  and,  rousing  Mort,  fed  it  to  him  with  a 
teaspoon.  All  night  long,  at  intervals,  he  tended 
the  sick  man,  and  Grant's  eyes  followed  him  with 
an  expression  that  brought  a  fierce  pain  to  Cant- 
well's  throat. 

"You're  mighty  good — after  the  rotten  way  I 
acted,"  the  former  whispered  once. 

And  Johnny's  big  hand  trembled  so  that  he 
spilled  the  broth. 

His  voice  was  low  and  tender  as  he  inquired, 
"Are  you  resting  easier  now?" 

The  other  nodded. 

"Maybe  you're  not  hurt  badly,  after — all. 
God!  That  would  be  awful — "  Cantwell  choked, 
turned  away,  and,  raising  his  arms  against  the  log 
wall,  buried  his  face  in  them. 

The  morning  broke  clear;  Grant  was  sleeping. 
As  Johnny  stiffly  mounted  the  creek  bank  with  a 
bucket  of  water  he  heard  a  jingle  of  sleigh-bells 
and  saw  a  sled  with  two  white  men  swing  in 
toward  the  cabin. 

"Hello!"  he  called,  then  heard  his  own  name 
pronounced. 

"Johnny  Cantwell,  by  all  that's  holy!" 

The  next  moment  he  was  shaking  hands  vigor- 
ously with  two  old  friends  from  Nome. 

"Martin  and  me  are  bound  for  Saint  Mikes," 
255 


THE    WEIGHT   OF    OBLIGATION 

one  of  them  explained.     "Where  the  deuce  did 
you  come  from,  Johnny?" 

' '  The  '  outside. '    Started  for  Stony  River,  but—' ' 

"Stony  River!"  The  new-comers  began  to 
laugh  loudly  and  Cantwell  joined  them.  It  was 
the  first  time  he  had  laughed  for  weeks.  He 
realized  the  fact  with  a  start,  then  recollected  also 
his  sleeping  partner,  and  said: 

' '  'Sh-h !     Mort's  inside,  asleep !" 

During  the  night  everything  had  changed  for 
Johnny  Cantwell;  his  mental  attitude,  his  hatred, 
his  whole  reasonless  insanity.  Everything  was 
different  now,  even  his  debt  was  canceled,  the 
weight  of  obligation  was  removed,  and  his  dis- 
eased fancies  were  completely  cured. 

"Yes!  Stony  River,"  he  repeated,  grinning 
broadly.  "I  bit!" 

Martin  burst  forth,  gleefully:  "They  caught 
MacDonald  at  Holy  Cross  and  ran  him  out  on  a 
limb.  He'll  never  start  another  stampede.  Old 
man  Baker  gun-branded  him." 

"What's  the  matter  with  Mort?"  inquired  the 
second  traveler. 

"He's  resting  up.  Yesterday,  during  the  storm 
he —  Johnny  was  upon  the  point  of  saying 
"played  out,"  but  changed  it  to  "had  an  accident. 
We  thought  it  was  serious,  but  a  few  days'  rest  '11 
bring  him  around  all  right.  He  saved  me  at 
Katmai,  coming  in.  I  petered  out  and  threw  up 
my  tail,  but  he  got  me  through.  Come  inside  and 
tell  him  the  news." 

256 


THE    WEIGHT   OF   OBLIGATION 

"Sure  thing." 

"Well,  well!"  Martin  said.  "So  you  and  Mort 
are  still  partners,  eh?" 

"Still  partners?"  Johnny  took  up  the  pail  of 
water.  "Well,  rather!  We'll  always  be  part- 
ners." His  voice  was  young  and  full  and  hearty 
as  he  continued:  "Why,  Mort's  the  best  damned 
fellow  in  the  world.  I'd  lay  down  my  life  for 
him." 


THE    STAMPEDE 


THE    STAMPEDE 

FROM  their  vantage  on  the  dump,  the  red 
gravel  of  which  ran  like  a  raw  scar  down  the 
mountainside,  the  men  looked  out  across  the 
gulch,  above  the  western  range  of  hills  to  the 
yellow  setting  sun.  Far  below  them  the  creek 
was  dotted  with  other  tiny  pay  dumps  of  the  same 
red  gravel  over  which  men  crawled,  antlike,  or 
upon  which  they  labored  at  windlass.  Thin 
wisps  of  smoke  rose  from  the  cabin  roofs,  be- 
speaking the  supper  hour. 

They  had  done  a  hard  day's  work,  these  two, 
and  wearily  descended  to  their  shack,  which  hugged 
the  hillside  beneath. 

Ten  hours  with  pick  and  shovel  in  a  drift  where 
the  charcoal-gas  flickers  a  candle-flame  will  reduce 
one's  artistic  keenness,  and  together  they  slouched 
along  the  path,  heedless  alike  of  view  or  color. 

As  Crowley  built  the  fire  Buck  scoured  himself 
in  the  wet  snow  beside  the  door,  emerging  from 
his  ablutions  as  cook.  The  former  stretched  upon 
the  bunk  with  growing  luxury.  "Gee  whiz! 
I'm  tuckered  out.  Twelve  hours  in  that  air  is 
too  much  for  anybody." 

261 


THE    STAMPEDE 

"Sure,"  growled  the  other.  "Bet  I  sleep  good 
to-night,  all  right,  all  right.  What's  the  use, 
anyhow?"  he  continued,  disgustedly.  "I'm  sore 
on  the  whole  works.  If  the  Yukon  was  open  I'd 
chuck  it  all." 

"What!     Go  back  to  the  States?     Give  up?" 

"Well,  yes,  if  you  want  to  call  it  that,  though 
I  think  I've  shown  I  ain't  a  quitter.  Lord!  I've 
rustled  steady  for  two  years,  and  what  have  I  got? 
Nothing — except  my  interest  in  this  pauperized 
hill  claim." 

"If  two  years  of  hard  luck  gives  you  cold  feet, 
you  ain't  worthy  of  the  dignity  of  'prospector.' 
This  here  is  the  only  honorable  calling  there  is. 
There's  no  competition  and  cuttin'  throats  in  our 
business,  nor  we  don't  rob  the  widders  and  orphans. 
A  prospector  is  defined  as  a  semi-human  being 
with  a  low  forehead  but  a  high  sense  of  honor, 
a  stummick  that  shies  at  salads,  but  a  heart  that's 
full  of  grit.  They  don't  never  lay  down,  and  the 
very  beauty  of  the  business  is  that  you  never  know 
when  you're  due.  Some  day  a  guy  comes  along: 
'I  hit  her  over  yonder,  bo,'  says  he,  whereupon 
you  insert  yourself  into  a  pack-strap,  pound  the 
trail,  and  the  next  you  know  you're  a  millionaire 
or  two." 

"Bah!  No  more  stampedes  for  me.  I've 
killed  myself  too  often — there's  nothing  in  'em. 
I'm  sick  of  it,  I  tell  you,  and  I'm  going  out  to 
God's  country.  No  more  wild  scrambles  and  hard- 
ships for  Buck." 

262 


THE   STAMPEDE 

A  step  sounded  on  the  chips  without,  and  a 
slender,  sallow  man  entered. 

"Hello,  Maynard!"  they  chorused,  and  wel- 
comed him  to  a  seat. 

"What  are  you  doing  out  here?" 

"D'you  bring  any  chewing  with  you?" 

Evidently  he  labored  under  excitement,  for  his 
face  was  flushed  and  his  eyes  danced  nervously. 
He  panted  from  his  climb,  ignoring  their  questions. 

"There's  been  a  big  strike — over  on  the  Tanana 
— four  bits  to  the  pan." 

Forgetting  fatigue,  Crowley  scrambled  out  of  his 
bunk  while  the  cook  left  his  steaming  skillet. 

"When?" 

"How  d'you  know?" 

"It's  this  way.  I  met  a  fellow  as  I  came  out 
from  town — he'd  just  come  over — one  of  the  dis- 
coverers. He  showed  me  the  gold.  It's  coarse; 
one  nugget  weighed  three  hundred  dollars  and 
there's  only  six  men  in  the  party.  They  went  up 
the  Tanana  last  fall,  prospecting,  and  only  just 
struck  it.  Three  of  'em  are  down  with  scurvy, 
so  this  one  came  over  the  mountains  for  fresh 
grub.  It  '11  be  the  biggest  stampede  this  camp 
ever  saw."  Maynard  became  incoherent. 

"How  long  ago  did  you  meet  him?"  Crowley 
inquired,  excitedly. 

"About  an  hour.  I  came  on  the  run,  because 
he'll  get  into  camp  by  eleven,  and  midnight  will 
see  five  hundred  men  on  the  trail.  Look  at  this — 
he  gave  me  a  map."  The  speaker  gloatingly  pro- 

263 


THE    STAMPEDE 

duced  a  scrap  of  writing-paper  and  continued, 
"Boys,  you've  got  five  hours'  start  of  them." 

"We  can't  go;  we  haven't  got  any  dogs,"  said 
Buck.  "Those  people  from  town  would  catch 
us  in  twenty  miles." 

"You  don't  want  dogs,"  Maynard  answered. 
"It's  too  soft.  You'll  have  to  make  a  quick  run 
with  packs  or  the  spring  break-up  will  catch  you. 
I  wish  I  could  go.  It's  big,  I  tell  you.  Lord! 
How  I  wish  I  could  go!" 

They  were  huddled  together,  their  eyes  feverish, 
their  fingers  tracing  the  pencil-markings.  A  smell 
of  burning  food  filled  the  room,  but  there  is  no 
obsession  more  absolute  than  the  gold-lust. 

"Get  the  packs  together  while  me  and  Buck 
eats  a  bite.  We'll  take  the  fox-robe  and  the 
Navajo.  Glad  I've  got  a  new  pair  of  mukluks, 
'cause  we  need  light  footgear;  but  what  will  you 
wear,  boy?  Them  hip-boots  is  too  heavy — you'd 
never  make  it." 

"Here,"  said  Maynard,  "try  these."  He 
slipped  off  his  light  gossamer  sporting-boots,  and 
Buck  succeeded  in  stamping  his  feet  into  them. 

"Little  tight,  but  they'll  go." 

They  snatched  bites  of  food,  meanwhile  col- 
lecting their  paraphernalia,  Maynard  helping  as 
he  could. 

Each  selected  a  change  of  socks  and  mittens. 
Then  the  grub  was  divided  evenly — tea,  flour,  ba- 
con, baking-powder,  salt,  sugar.  '  There  was  noth- 
ing else,  for  spring  on  the  Yukon  finds  only  the 

264 


THE    STAMPEDE 

heel  of  the  grub-stake.  Each  rolled  his  portion 
in  his  blanket  and  lashed  it  with  light  rope. 
Then  an  end  of  the  bundle  was  thrust  into  the 
waist  of  a  pair  of  overalls  and  the  garment  closely 
cinched  to  it.  The  legs  were  brought  forward 
and  fastened,  forming  two  loops,  through  which 
they  slipped  their  arms,  balancing  the  packs,  or 
shifting  a  knot  here  and  there.  A  light  ax,  a 
coffee-pot,  frying-pan,  and  pail  were  tied  on  the 
outside,  and  they  stood  ready  for  the  run.  They 
stored  carefully  wrapped  bundles  of  matches  in 
pockets,  packs,  and  in  the  lining  of  their  caps. 
The  preparations  had  not  taken  twenty  minutes. 

"Too  bad  we  'ain't  got  some  cooked  grub,  like 
chocolate  or  dog-biscuits,"  said  Crowley,  "but 
seeing  as  we've  got  five  hours'  start  over  every- 
body we  won't  have  to  kill  ourselves." 

Maynard  spoke  hesitatingly.  "Say,  I  told 
Sully  about  it  as  I  came  along." 

"What!"  Crowley  interrupted  him  sharply. 

"Yes!  I  told  him  to  get  ready,  and  I  promised 
to  give  him  the  location  an  hour  after  you  left. 
You  see,  he  did  me  a  good  turn  once  and  I  had  to 
get  back  at  him  somehow.  He  and  Knute  are 
getting  fixed  now.  Why,  what's  up?" 

He  caught  a  queer,  quick  glance  between  his 
partners  and  noted  a  hardness  settle  into  the 
lined  face  of  the  elder. 

"Nothing  much,"  Buck  took  up.  "I  guess  you 
didn't  know  about  the  trouble,  eh?  Crowley 
knocked  him  down  day  before  yesterday  and 
18  265 


THE    STAMPEDE 

Sully  swears  he'll  kill  him  on  sight.  It  came  up 
over  that  fraction  on  Buster  Creek." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Maynard,  "that's  bad,  isn't 
it?  I  promised,  though,  so  I'll  have  to  tell  him." 

"Sure!  That's  all  right,"  Crowley  agreed, 
quietly,  though  his  lip  curled,  showing  the  strong, 
close-shut,  ivory  teeth.  His  nostrils  dilated,  also, 
giving  his  face  a  passing  wolfish  hint.  "There's 
neither  white  man  nor  Swede  that  can  gain  an 
hour  on  us,  and  if  he  should  happen  to — he 
wouldn't  pass." 

Be  it  known  that  many  great  placer  fortunes 
have  been  won  by  those  who  stepped  in  the  warm 
tracks  of  the  discoverers,  while  rarely  does  the 
goddess  smile  on  the  tardy;  in  consequence,  no 
frenzy  approaches  that  of  the  gold  stampede. 

Passing  Sully's  place,  they  found  him  and  his 
partner  ready  and  waiting,  their  packs  on  the  saw- 
buck.  Crowley  glared  at  his  enemy  in  silence 
while  the  other  sneered  wickedly  back,  and  Big 
Knute  laughed  in  his  yellow  beard. 

Buck's  heart  sank.  Could  he  outlast  these  two  ? 
He  was  a  boy;  they  were  reckless  giants  with 
thews  and  legs  of  iron.  Knute  was  a  gaunt- 
framed  Viking;  Sully  a  violent,  florid  man  with 
the  quarters  of  an  ox.  Through  the  quixotism  of 
Maynard  this  trip  bade  fair  to  combine  the  killing 
grind  of  a  long,  fierce  stampede  with  the  bitter 
struggle  of  man  and  man,  and  too  well  he  knew 
the  temper  of  his  red-headed  partner  to  doubt  that 
before  the  last  stake  was  driven  either  he  or  Sully 

266 


THE    STAMPEDE 

would  be  down.  From  the  glare  in  their  eyes  at 
passing  it  came  over  him  that  either  he  or  Knute 
would  recross  the  mountains  partnerless.  The 
trail  was  too  narrow  for  these  other  men.  He 
shrank  from  the  toil  and  agony  he  felt  was  coming 
to  him  through  this;  then,  with  it,  there  came 
the  burning  gold-hunger;  the  lust  that  drives 
starving,  broken  wrecks  onward  unremittingly, 
over  misty  hills,  across  the  beds  of  lava  and  the 
forbidden  tundra;  on,  into  the  new  diggings. 

It  neared  eight  o'clock,  and,  although  darkness 
was  far  distant,  the  chill  that  follows  the  sun  fell 
sharply. 

As  they  swung  out  on  to  the  river  their  fatigue 
had  dropped  away  and  they  moved  with  the 
steady,  loose  gait  of  the  hardened  "musher." 
Buck  looked  at  his  watch.  They  had  been  gone 
an  hour. 

"The  race  is  on!"  said  he. 

Though  unhurried,  their  progress  was  likewise 
unhindered,  and  the  miles  slipped  backward  as  the 
darkness  thickened,  hour  by  hour.  Straight  up 
the  fifty-mile  stream  to  its  source,  over  the  great 
backbone  and  into  the  unmapped  country  their 
course  led.  If  they  hurried  they  would  have  first 
choice  of  the  good  claims  close  about  the  dis- 
covery; if  they  lagged  Sully  and  his  ox-eyed  part- 
ner would  overtake  them,  and  beyond  that  it  was 
unpleasant  to  conjecture. 

' '  We'll  hit  water  pretty  soon !"  Crowley's  voice 
broke  hours  of  silence,  for  they  were  sparing  of 

267 


THE    STAMPEDE 

language.  They  neither  whistled  nor  sang  nor 
spoke,  for  Man  is  a  potential  body  from  which 
his  store  of  energy  wastes  through  tiny  unheeded 
ways. 

True  to  prophecy,  in  the  darkness  of  midnight 
they  walked  out  upon  a  thin  skin  of  newly  frozen 
ice. 

"Look  out  for  the  overflow!  She  froze  since 
dark,"  Crowley  cautioned.  "We're  liable  to  go 
through." 

On  all  sides  it  cracked  alarmingly,  while  they 
felt  it  sag  beneath  their  feet.  It  is  bad  in  the  dark 
to  ride  the  ice  of  an  overflow,  for  one  may  crash 
through  ankle-deep  to  the  solid  body  beneath  or 
plunge  to  his  armpits. 

They  skated  over  the  yielding  surface  toward 
safety  till,  without  warning,  Crowley  smashed  in 
half-way  to  his  hips.  He  fell  forward  bodily, 
and  the  ice  let  him  through  till  he  rolled  in  the 
water.  Buck  skimmed  over  more  lightly,  and, 
when  they  had  reached  the  solid  footing,  helped 
him  wring  out  his  garments.  Straightway  the 
cloth  whitened  under  the  frost  and  crackled  when 
they  resumed  their  march,  but  there  was  no  time 
for  fires,  and  by  vigorous  action  he  could  keep 
the  cold  from  striking  in. 

They  had  threaded  up  into  the  region  where 
spring  was  further  advanced,  and  within  half  an 
hour  encountered  another  overflow.  Climbing 
the  steep  bank,  they  wallowed  through  thickets 
waist-deep  in  snow.  Beneath  the  crust,  which  cut 

268 


THE    STAMPEDE 

knifelike,  it  was  wet  and  soggy,  so  they  emerged 
saturated.  Then  debouching  on  to  the  glare  ice 
the  boy  had  a  nasty  fall,  for  he  slipped,  and  his 
loose-hung  pack  flung  him  suddenly.  Nothing  is 
more  wicked  than  a  pack  on  smooth  ice.  The 
surface  had  frozen  glass-smooth,  and  constant  dif- 
ficulty beset  their  progress.  Their  slick-soled  foot- 
gear refused  to  grip  it,  so  that  often  they  fell, 
always  awkwardly,  occasionally  crushing  through 
into  the  icy  water  beneath. 

Without  warning  Buck  found  that  he  was  very 
tired.  He  also  found  that  his  pack  had  grown 
soggy  and  quadrupled  in  weight,  tugging  sullenly 
at  his  aching  shoulders. 

As  daylight  showed  they  slipped  harness  and, 
hurriedly  gathering  twigs,  boiled  a  pot  of  tea. 
They  took  time  to  prepare  nothing  else,  yet  even 
though  the  kettle  sang  speedily,  as  they  drank 
from  around  the  bend  below  came  voices.  Crow- 
ley  straightened  with  a  curse  and,  snatching  his 
pack,  fled  up  the  stream,  followed  by  his  com- 
panion. They  ran  till  Buck's  knees  failed  him. 
Thereupon  the  former  removed  a  portion  of  the 
youngster's  burden,  adding  it  to  his  own,  and  they 
hurried  on  for  hours,  till  they  fell  exhausted  upon 
a  dry  moss  hummock.  Here  they  exchanged  foot- 
gear, as  Buck  now  found  his  feet  were  paining  him 
acutely,  owing  to  the  tightness  of  his  rubber  boots. 
They  proved  too  small  for  Crowley  as  well,  and 
in  a  few  hours  his  feet  were  likewise  ruined. 

Noon  found  them  limping  among  the  bald  hills 
269 


THE    STAMPEDE 

of  the  river's  source.  Here  timber  was  sparse 
and  the  snows,  too,  had  thinned;  so  to  avoid  the 
convolutions  of  the  stream  they  cut  across  points, 
floundering  among  ' '  niggerheads  " — quaint,  wob- 
bly hummocks  of  grass- — being  thrown  repeatedly 
by  their  packs  which  had  developed  a  malicious 
deviltry.  This  footing  was  infinitely  worse  than 
the  reeking  ice,  but  it  saved  time,  so  they  took  it. 

Now,  under  their  stiff  mackinaws  they  perspired 
freely  as  the  sun  mounted,  until  their  heavy  gar- 
ments chafed  them  beneath  arms  and  legs. 
Moreover,  mosquitoes,  which  in  this  latitude 
breed  within  arm's-length  of  snow-drifts,  con- 
tinually whined  in  a  vicious  cloud  before  their 
features. 

Human  nerves  will  weather  great  strains,  but 
wearing,  maddening,  unending  trivialities  will 
break  them  down,  and  so,  although  their  journey 
in  miles  had  been  inconsiderable,  the  dragging 
packs,  the  driving  panic,  the  lack  of  food  and  firm 
footing,  had  trebled  it. 

Scaling  the  moss-capped  saddle,  they  labored 
painfully,  a  hundred  yards  at  a  time.  Back  of 
them  the  valley  unrolled,  its  stream  winding  away 
like  a  gleaming  ribbon,  stretching,  through  dark 
banks  of  fir,  down  to  the  Yukon.  After  incredible 
effort  they  reached  the  crest  and  gazed  dully  out 
to  the  southward  over  a  limitless  jangle  of  peaks, 
on,  on,  to  a  blue- veiled  valley  leagues  and  leagues 
across.  Many  square  miles  lay  under  them  in  the 
black  of  unbroken  forests.  It  was  their  first 

270 


THE    STAMPEDE 

glimpse  of  the  Tanana.  Far  beyond,  from  a 
groveling  group  of  foot-hills,  a  solitary,  giant 
peak  soared  grandly,  standing  aloof,  serene,  ter- 
rible in  its  proportions.  Even  in  their  fatigue 
they  exclaimed  aloud: 

"It's  Mount  McKinley!" 

"Yep!  Tallest  wart  on  the  face  of  the  conti- 
nent. There's  the  creek  we  go  down — see!" 
Crowley  indicated  a  watercourse  which  meandered 
away  through  canons  and  broad  reaches.  "We 
f oiler  it  to  yonder  cross  valley;  then  east  to 
there." 

To  Buck's  mind,  his  gesture  included  a  tinted 
realm  as  far-reaching  as  a  state. 

Stretched  upon  the  bare  schist,  commanding 
the  back  stretch,  they  munched  slices  of  raw 
bacon. 

Directly,  out  toward  the  mountain's  foot  two 
figures  crawled. 

"There  they  come!"  and  Crowley  led,  stum- 
bling, sliding,  into  the  strange  valley. 

As  this  was  the  south  and  early  side  of  the 
range,  they  found  the  hills  more  barren  of  snow. 
Water  seeped  into  the  gulches  till  the  creek  ice 
was  worn  and  rotted. 

"This  '11  be  fierce,"  the  Irishman  remarked. 
"If  she  breaks  on  us  we'll  be  hung  up  in  the  hills 
and  starve  before  the  creeks  lower  enough  to  get 
home." 

Small  streams  freeze  solidly  to  the  bottom  and 
the  spring  waters  wear  downward  from  the  sur- 

271 


THE    STAMPEDE 

face.  Thus  they  found  the  creek  awash,  and, 
following  farther,  it  became  necessary  to  wade  in 
many  places.  They  came  to  a  box  canon  where 
the  winter  snow  had  packed,  forming  a  dam,  and, 
as  there  was  no  way  of  avoiding  it  without  retreat- 
ing a  mile  and  climbing  the  ragged  bluff,  they 
floundered  through,  their  packs  aloft,  the  slushy 
water  armpit-deep. 

' '  We'd  ought  'a'  took  the  ridges, ' '  Buck  chattered. 
Language  slips  forth  phonetically  with  fatigue. 

"No!  Feller's  apt  to  get  lost.  Drop  into  the 
wrong  creek — come  out  fifty  mile  away." 

"I  bet  the  others  do,  anyhow,"  Buck  held, 
stubbornly.  "It's  lots  easier  going." 

"Wish  Sully  would,  but  he's  too  wise.  No  such 
luck  for  me."  A  long  pause.  " I  reckon  I'll  have 
to  kill  him  before  he  gets  back!"  Again  they  re- 
lapsed into  miles  of  silence. 

Crowley's  fancy  fed  on  vengeance,  hatred  liven- 
ing his  work-worn  faculties.  He  nursed  carefully 
the  memory  of  their  quarrel,  for  it  helped  him 
travel  and  took  his  mind  from  the  agony  of  move- 
ment and  this  aching  sleep-hunger. 

The  feet  of  both  men  felt  like  fearful,  shapeless 
masses;  their  packs  leaned  backward  sullenly, 
chafing  raw  shoulder  sores;  and  always  the 
ravenous  mosquitoes  stung  and  stung,  and  whined 
and  whined. 

At  an  exclamation  the  leader  turned.  Miles 
back,  silhouetted  far  above  on  the  comb  of  the 
ridge,  they  descried  two  tiny  figures. 

272  " 


THE    STAMPEDE 

' '  That's  what  we'd  ought  'a'  done.  They'll  beat 
us  in." 

"No,  they  won't.  They'll  have  to  camp  to- 
night or  get  lost,  while  we  can  keep  goin'.  We 
can't  go  wrong  down  here;  can't  do  no  more  than 
drownd." 

Buck  groaned  at  the  thought  of  the  night  hours. 
He  couldn't  stand  it,  that  was  all!  Enough  is 
enough  of  anything  and  he  had  gone  the  limit. 
Just  one  more  mile  and  he  would  quit;  yet  he  did 
not. 

All  through  that  endless  phantom  night  they 
floundered,  incased  in  freezing  garments,  numb 
and  heavy  with  sleep,  but  morning  found  them 
at  the  banks  of  the  main  stream. 

"You  look  like  hell,"  said  Buck,  laughing 
weakly.  His  mirth  relaxed  his  nerves  suddenly, 
till  he  giggled  and  hiccoughed  hysterically.  Nor 
could  he  stop  for  many  minutes,  the  while  Crowley 
stared  at  him  apathetically  from  a  lined  and 
shrunken  countenance,  his  features  standing  out 
skeleton-like.  The  younger  man  evidenced  the 
strain  even  more  severely,  for  his  flesh  was  tender, 
and  he  had  traveled  the  last  hours  on  pure  nerve. 
His  jaws  were  locked  and  corded,  however,  while 
his  drooping  eyes  shone  unquenchably. 

Eventually  they  rounded  a  bluff  on  to  a  cabin 
nestling  at  the  mouth  of  a  dark  valley.  Near  it 
men  were  working  with  a  windlass,  so,  stumbling 
to  them,  they  spoke  huskily. 

"Sorry  we  'ain't  got  room  inside,"  the  stranger 
273 


THE   STAMPEDE 

replied,  "but  three  of  the  boys  is  down  with 
scurvy,  and  we're  all  cramped  up.  Plenty  more 
folks  coming,  I  s'pose,  eh?" 

The  two  had  sunk  on  to  the  wet  ground  and  did 
not  answer.  Buck  fell  with  his  pack  still  on, 
utterly  lost,  and  the  miner  was  forced  to  drag  the 
bundle  from  his  shoulders.  As  he  rolled  him  up 
he  was  sleeping  heavily. 

Crowley  awakened  while  the  sun  was  still 
golden;  his  joints  aching  excruciatingly.  They 
had  slept  four  hours.  He  boiled  tea  on  the 
miners'  stove  and  fried  a  pan  of  salt  pork,  but  was 
too  tired  to  prepare  anything  else,  so  they  drank 
the  warm  bacon-grease  clear  with  their  tea. 

As  Buck  strove  to  arise,  his  limbs  gave  way 
weakly,  so  that  he  fell,  and  it  took  him  many 
moments  to  recover  their  use. 

"Where's  the  best  chance,  pardner?"  they  in- 
quired of  the  men  on  the  dump. 

"Well,  there  ain't  none  very  close  by.  We've 
got  things  pretty  well  covered." 

"How's  that?  There's  only  six  of  you;  you 
can't  hold  but  six  claims,  besides  discovery." 

"Oh  yes,  we  can!  We've  got  powers  of  attor- 
ney; got  'em  last  fall  in  St.  Michael;  got  'em 
recorded,  too." 

Crowley's  sunken  eyes  blazed. 

"Them's  no  good.  We  don't  recko'nize  'em 
in  this  district.  One  claim  is  enough  for  any  man 
if  it's  good,  and  too  much  if  it's  bad." 

"What  district  you  alludin'  at?"  questioned  the 
274 


THE    STAMPEDE 

other,  ironically.  "You're  in  the  Skookum  Dis- 
trict now.  It  takes  six  men  to  organize.  Well! 
We  organized.  We  made  laws.  We  elected  a 
recorder.  I'm  it.  If  you  don't  like  our  rules, 
yonder  is  the  divide.  We've  got  the  U.  S.  gov- 
ernment back  of  us.  See!" 

Crowley's  language  became  purely  local,  but 
the  other  continued  unruffled. 

"We  knew  you-all  was  coming,  so  we  sort  of 
loaded  up.  If  there's  any  ground  hereabouts  that 
we  ain't  got  blanketed,  it's  purely  an  oversight. 
There's  plenty  left  farther  out, /though,"  and  he 
swept  them  a  mocking  gesture.  "Help  your- 
selves and  pass  up  for  more.  I'll  record  'em." 

"What's  the  fee?" 

"Ten  dollars  apiece." 

Crowley  swore  more  savagely. 

"You  done  a  fine  job  of  hoggin',  didn't  you? 
It's  two  and  a  half  everywhere  else." 

But  the  recorder  of  the  Skookum  District 
laughed  carelessly  and  resumed  his  windlass. 
"Sorry  you  ain't  pleased.  Maybe  you'll  learn  to 
like  it." 

As  they  turned  away  he  continued:  "I  don't 
mind  giving  you  a  hunch,  though.  Tackle  that 
big  creek  about  five  miles  down  yonder.  She  pro- 
spected good  last  fall,  but  you'll  have  to  go  clean 
to  her  head,  'cause  we've  got  everything  below." 

Eight  hours  later,  by  the  guiding  glare  of  the 
Northern  Lights,  the  two  stumbled  back  into 
camp,  utterly  broken. 

275 


THE    STAMPEDE 

They  had  followed  the  stream  for  miles  and 
miles  to  find  it  staked  by  the  powers  of  attorney 
of  the  six.  Coming  to  the  gulch's  head,  to  be 
sure,  they  found  vacant  ground,  but  refused  to 
claim  such  unpromising  territory.  Then  the  end- 
less homeward  march  through  the  darkness!  Out 
of  thickets  and  through  drifts  they  burst,  while 
fatigue  settled  on  them  like  some  horrid  vampire 
from  the  darkness.  Every  step  being  no  longer 
involuntary  became  a  separate  labor,  requiring 
mental  concentration.  They  were  half  dead  in 
slumber  as  they  walked,  but  their  stubborn  cour- 
age and  smoldering  rage  at  the  men  who  had 
caused  this  drove  them  on.  They  suffered  si- 
lently, because  it  takes  effort  to  groan,  and  they 
hoarded  every  atom  of  endurance. 

Many,  many  times  Buck  repeated  a  poem,  tim- 
ing his  steps  to  its  rhythm,  rendering  it  over  and 
over  till  it  wore  a  rut  through  his  brain,  his  eyes 
fixed  dully  upon  the  glaring  fires  above  the  hill- 
tops. For  years  a  faintness  came  over  him  with 
the  memory  of  these  lines: 

Then  dark  they  lie,  and  stark  they  lie,  rookery,  dune,  and 

floe, 
And  the  Northern  Lights  came  down  o'  nights  to  dance  with 

the  houseless  snow. 

Reaching  the  cabin,  they  found  an  army  of  men 
sleeping  heavily  upon  the  wet  moss.  Among  them 
was  the  great  form  of  Knute,  but  nowhere  did  they 
spy  Sully. 

276 


THE    STAMPEDE 

With  much  effort  they  tore  off  the  constricting 
boots  and,  using  them  for  pillows,  sank  into  a 
painful  lethargy. 

Awakened  early  by  the  others,  they  took  their 
stiffly  frozen  footgear  beneath  the  blankets  to 
thaw  against  their  warm  bodies,  but  their  feet 
were  swelled  to  double  size  and  every  joint  had 
ossified  rheumatically.  Eventually  they  hobbled 
about,  preparing  the  first  square  meal  since  the 
start — two  days  and  three  nights. 

Still  they  saw  no  Sully,  though  Crowley's  eyes 
darted  careful  inquiry  among  the  horde  of  stam- 
peders  which  moved  about  the  cabin.  Later,  he 
seemed  bent  on  some  hidden  design,  so  they 
crawled  out  of  sight  of  the  camp,  then,  commenc- 
ing at  the  upper  stake  of  Discovery,  he  stepped  off 
the  claims  from  post  to  post. 

It  is  customary  to  blaze  the  boundaries  of  loca- 
tions on  tree  trunks,  but  from  topographical  ir- 
regularities it  is  difficult  to  properly  gauge  these 
distances,  hence,  many  rich  fractions  have  been 
run  over  by  the  heedless,  to  fall  to  him  who 
chained  the  ground. 

Upon  pacing  the  third  one,  he  showed  excite- 
ment. 

"You  walk  this  one  again — mebbe  I  made  a 
mistake." 

Buck  returned,  crashing  through  the  brush. 

"I  make  it  seventeen  hundred." 

The  claim  above  figured  likewise,  and  they 
trembled  with  elation  as  they  blazed  their  lines. 

277 


THE    STAMPEDE 

Returning  to  camp,  they  found  the  recorder  in 
the  cabin  with  the  scurvy  patients.  Unfolding 
the  location  notices,  his  face  went  black  as  he  read, 
while  he  snarled,  angrily : 

"'Fraction  between  Three  and  Four'  and 
'Fraction  between  Four  and  Five,'  eh?  You're 
crazy." 

"I  reckon  not,"  said  Crowley,  lifting  his  lips 
at  the  corners  characteristically. 

"There  ain't  any  fraction  there,"  the  other 
averred,  loudly.  "We  own.  them  claims.  I  told 
you  we  had  everything  covered." 

"You  record  them  fractions!" 

"I  won't  do  it!     I'll  see  you  in — " 

Crowley  reached  forth  suddenly  and  strangled 
him  as  he  sat.  He  buried  his  thumbs  in  his  throat, 
forcing  him  roughly  back  against  a  bunk.  Farther 
and  farther  he  crushed  him  till  the  man  lay 
pinioned  and  writhing  on  his  back.  Then  he 
knelt  on  him,  shaking  and  worrying  like  a  great 
terrier. 

At  the  first  commotion  the  cripples  scrambled 
out  of  bed,  shouting  lustily  through  their  livid 
gums,  their  bloated  features  mottled  and  sickly 
with  fright.  One  lifted  himself  toward  the  Win- 
chester, and  it  fell  from  his  hands  full  cocked  when 
Buck  hurled  him  into  a  corner,  where  he  lay 
screaming  in  agony. 

Drawn  by  the  uproar,  the  stampeders  outside 
rushed  toward  the  shack  to  be  met  in  the  door  by 
the  young  man. 

278 


THE    STAMPEDE 

"Keep  back!" 

"What's  up!" 

"Fight!" 

"Let  me  in!" 

A  man  bolted  forward,  but  was  met  with  such  a 
driving  blow  in  the  face  that  he  went  thrashing 
to  the  slush.  Another  was  hurled  back,  and  then 
they  heard  Crowley's  voice,  rough  and  throaty, 
as  he  abused  the  recorder.  Strained  to  the  snap- 
ping-point,  his  restraint  had  shattered  to  bits  and 
now  passion  ran  through  him,  wild  and  unbridled. 

From  his  words  they  grasped  the  situation,  and 
their  sympathies  changed.  They  crowded  the 
door  and  gazed  curiously  through  the  window 
to  see  him  jam  the  recorder  shapelessly  into  a 
chair,  place  pen  and  ink  in  his  hand,  and  force 
him  to  execute  two  receipts.  It  is  not  a  popular 
practice,  this  blanketing,  as  the  temper  of  the 
watchers  showed. 

"Serves  'em  right,  the  hogs,"  some  one  said, 
and  he  voiced  the  universal  sentiment. 

That  night,  as  they  ravened  over  their  meager 
meal,  Knute  came  to  them,  hesitatingly.  He  was 
greatly  worried  and  apprehension  wrinkled  his 
wooden  face. 

"Saay!    Wat  you  t'ink  'bout  Sully?" 

"I  don't  know.     Why?" 

"By  yingo,  ay  t'ink  he's  lose!" 

"Lost!     How's  that?" 

In  his  dialect,  broken  by  anxiety,  he  told  how 
Sully  and  he  had  quarreled  on  the  big  divide. 

279 


THE    STAMPEDE 

Maddened  by  failure  to  gain  on  Crowley,  the 
former  had  insisted  on  following  the  mountain 
crests  in  the  hope  of  quicker  travel.  The  Swede 
had  yielded  reluctantly  till,  frightened  by  the  net- 
work of  radiating  gulches  which  spread  out  be- 
neath their  feet  in  a  bewildering  sameness,  he  had 
refused  to  go  farther.  They  had  quarreled.  In 
a  fit  of  fury  Sully  had  hurled  his  pack  away,  and 
Knute's  last  vision  of  him  had  been  as  he  went 
raving  and  cursing  onward  like  a  madman,  travel- 
ing fast  in  his  fury.  Knute  had  retreated,  dropped 
into  the  valley,  and  eventually  reached  his  goal. 

There  is  no  time  for  reliefs  on  a  stampede.  The 
gentler  emotions  are  left  in  camp  with  the  women. 
He  who  would  risk  life,  torture,  and  privation  for 
a  stranger  will  trample  pitilessly  on  friend  and 
enemy  blinded  by  the  gold  glitter  or  drunken  with 
the  chase  of  the  rainbow. 

For  five  days  and  nights  the  army  lived  on  its 
feet,  streaming  up  gullies  where  lay  the  hint  of 
wealth  or  swarming  over  the  somber  bluffs;  and 
hourly  the  madness  grew,  feeding  on  itself,  till 
they  fought  like  beasts.  Fabulous  values  were  be- 
gotten. Giant  sales  were  bruited  about.  Flying 
rumors  of  gold  at  the  cross-roots  inflamed  them  to 
further  frenzy. 

A  town  site  was  laid  out  and  a  terrible  scramble 
for  lots  ensued. 

One  man  was  buried  in  the  plot  he  claimed,  his 
disputant  being  adjudged  the  owner  by  virtue  of 
his  quicker  draw.  It  was  manslaughter,  they 

280 


THE    STAMPEDE 

knew,  but  no  one  spared  the  time  to  guard  him,  so 
he  went  free.  Nor  did  he  run  away.  One  can- 
not, while  the  craze  is  on. 

Five  days  of  this,  and  then  the  stream  broke. 
With  it  broke  the  delirium  of  the  five  hundred. 
The  valleys  roared  and  bawled  from  bluff  to  bluff, 
while  the  flats  became  seas  of  seething  ice  and 
rubbish.  Thus,  cut  off  from  home,  they  found 
their  grub  was  gone,  for  every  one  had  clung  till 
his  food  grew  low.  As  the  obsession  left  them 
their  brotherhood  returned — food  was  appor- 
tioned in  community,  and  they  spoke  vaguely  of 
the  fate  of  Sully. 

For  still  another  half -fortnight  they  lay  about 
the  cabin  while  the  streams  raged,  and  then 
Crowley  spoke  to  his  partner.  Rolling  their 
blankets,  they  started,  and,  although  many  were 
tempted  to  go,  none  had  the  courage,  preferring  to 
starve  on  quarter  rations  till  the  waters  lowered. 

Ascending  for  miles  where  the  torrent  narrowed, 
they  felled  a  tree  across  for  a  bridge  and,  ascending 
the  ridges,  took  the  direction  of  camp.  In  a  new 
and  broken  country,  not  formed  of  continuous 
ranges,  this  is  difficult.  So  to  avoid  frequent 
fordings  they  followed  the  high  ground,  going 
devious,  confusing  miles.  The  snows  were  largely 
gone,  though  the  nights  were  cruel,  and  thus  they 
traveled. 

At  last,  when  they  had  worked  through  to  the 
Yukon  spurs,  one  morning  on  a  talus  high  above 
Buck  spied  the  flapping  forms  of  a  flock  of  ravens. 
19  281 


THE   STAMPEDE 

They  fluttered  ceaselessly  among  the  rocks,  rising 
noisily,  only  to  settle  again. 

These  are  the  gleaming,  baleful  vultures  of  the 
North,  and  often  they  attain  a  considerable  size 
and  ferocity. 

The  men  gazed  at  them  with  apathy.  Was  it 
worth  while  to  spend  the  steps  to  see  what  drew 
them?  By  following  their  course  they  would  pass 
far  to  the  right. 

"I  hate  the  dam'  things,"  said  Crowley,  crossly. 
"I  seen  'em,  oncet,  hangin'  to  a  caribou  calf  with 
a  broken  leg,  tryin'  to  pick  his  eyes  out.  Let's 
see  what  it  is." 

He  veered  to  the  left,  scrambling  up  among  the 
boulders.  The  birds  rose  fretfully,  perching  near 
by,  but  the  men  saw  nothing.  As  they  rested 
momentarily  the  birds  again  swooped  downward, 
reassured. 

Then,  partly  hidden  among  the  detritus,  they 
spied  that  which  made  Crowley  cry  out  in  horror, 
while  the  sound  of  Buck's  voice  was  like  the 
choking  of  a  woman.  As  they  started,  one  of  the 
ebony  scavengers  dipped  fiercely,  picking  at  a 
ragged  object.  A  human  arm  slowly  arose  and 
blindly  beat  it  off,  but  the  raven's  mate  settled 
also,  and,  sinking  its  beak  into  the  object,  tore 
hungrily. 

With  a  shout  they  stumbled  forward,  lacerated 
by  the  jagged  slide  rock,  only  to  pause  aghast  and 
snaking. 

Sully  lay  crouched  against  a  boulder  where  he 
282 


THE    STAMPEDE 

had  crawled  for  the  sun  heat.  Rags  of  clothing 
hung  upon  his  gaunt  frame,  through  which  the 
sharp  bones  strove  to  pierce;  also  at  sight  of  his 
hands  and  feet  they  shuddered.  With  the  former 
he  had  covered  his  eyes  from  the  ravens,  but  his 
cheeks  and  head  were  bloody  and  shredded.  He 
muttered  constantly,  like  the  thick  whirring  of 
machinery  run  down. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  Buck  whispered. 

Crowley  had  mastered  himself  and  knelt  beside 
the  figure.  He  looked  up  and  tears  lay  on  his 
cheeks. 

' '  Look  at  them  hands  and  feet !  That  was  done 
by  fire  and  frost  together.  He  must  have  fell  in 
his  own  camp-fires  after  he  went  crazy." 

The  garments  were  burned  off  to  elbow  and 
knee,  while  the  flesh  was  black  and  raw. 

Tenderly  they  carried  the  gabbing  creature  down 
to  the  timber  and  laid  him  on  a  bed  of  boughs. 
His  condition  told  the  grim  tale  of  his  wanderings, 
crazed  with  hunger  and  hardship. 

Heating  water,  they  poured  it  into  him,  dressing 
his  wounds  with  strips  from  their  underclothes. 
Of  stimulants  they  had  none,  but  fed  him  the  last 
pinch  of  flour,  together  with  the  final  rasher  of  salt 
pork,  although  they  knew  that  these  things  are 
not  good  for  starving  men.  For  many  days  they 
had  traveled  on  less  than  quarter  rations  them- 
selves. 

"What  will  we  do?" 

"It  ain't  over  twenty  miles  to  the  niggers'. 
283 


THE    STAMPEDE 

He'll  die  before  we  can  get  help  back.  D'ye 
reckon  we  can  carry  him?" 

It  was  not  sympathy  which  prompted  Crowley, 
for  he  sympathized  with  his  boyish  companion, 
whose  sufferings  it  hurt  him  sorely  to  augment. 
It  was  not  pity;  he  pitied  himself,  and  his  own 
deplorable  condition ;  nor  did  mercy  enter  into  his 
processes,  for  the  man  had  mercilessly  planned  to 
kill  him,  and  he  likewise  had  nursed  a  bitter 
hatred  against  him,  which  misfortune  could  only 
dim.  It  was  not  these  things  which  moved  him, 
but  a  vaguer,  wilder  quality;  an  elemental,  un- 
spoken, indefinable  feeling  of  brotherhood  through- 
out the  length  of  the  North,  teaching  subtly,  yet 
absolutely  and  without  appeal,  that  no  man  shall 
be  left  in  his  extremity  to  the  cruel  harshness  of 
this  forbidding  land. 

' '  Carry  him  ? ' '  Buck  cried.  ' '  No !  You're  crazy ! 
What's  the  use?  He'll  die,  anyhow — and  so'll  we 
if  we  don't  get  grub  soon."  Buck  was  new  to  the 
country,  and  he  was  a  boy. 

"No,  he  won't.  He  lived  hard  and  he'll  die 
hard,  for  he's  a  hellion — he  is.  We've  got  to  pack 
him  in!" 

"By  God!  I  won't  risk  my  life  for  a  corpse — 
'specially  one  like  him."  The  lad  broke  out  in 
hysterical  panic,  for  he  had  lived  on  the  raggedest 
edge  of  his  nerve  these  many  days.  Now  his 
every  muscle  was  dead  and  numbed  with  pain. 
Only  his  mind  was  clear,  caused  by  the  effort  to 
force  movement  into  his  limbs.  When  he  stopped 

284 


THE    STAMPEDE 

walking  he  fell  into  a  half-slumber  which  was 
acutely  painful.  When  he  arose  to  redrive  his 
weary  body  it  became  freakish,  so  that  he  fell  or 
collided  with  trees.  He  was  bloody  and  bruised 
and  cut.  Carry  a  dead  man?  It  was  madness, 
and,  besides,  he  felt  an  utter  giving  away  at  every 
joint. 

He  was  too  tired  to  make  his  reasoning  plain; 
his  tongue  was  thick,  and  Crowley's  brain  too 
calloused  to  grasp  argument,  therefore  he  squatted 
beside  the  muttering  creature  and  wept  impo- 
tently.  He  was  asleep,  with  tears  in  his  stubbly 
beard,  when  his  partner  finished  the  rude  litter, 
yet  he  took  up  his  end  of  the  burden,  as  Crowley 
knew  he  would. 

"You'll  kill  us  both,  damn  ye!"  he  groaned. 

"Probably  so,  but  we  can't  leave  him  to  them 
things."  The  other  nodded  at  the  vampires 
perched  observantly  in  the  surrounding  firs. 

Then  began  their  great  trial  and  temptation. 
For  hours  on  end  the  birds  fluttered  from  tree  to 
tree,  always  in  sight  and  hoarsely  complaining  till 
the  sick  fancies  of  the  men  distorted  them  into 
foul,  gibing  creatures  of  the  Pit  screaming  with 
devilish  glee  at  their  anguish.  Blindly  they  stag- 
gered through  the  forest  while  the  limbs  reached 
forth  to  block  them,  thrusting  sharp  needles  into 
their  eyes  or  whipping  back  viciously.  Vines 
writhed  up  their  legs,  straining  to  delay  their 
march,  and  the  dank  moss  curled  ankle-deep, 
slyly  tripping  their  dragging,  swollen  feet.  Na- 

285 


THE   STAMPEDE 

ture  hindered  them  sullenly,  with  all  her  heart- 
breaking implacability.  They  reeled  constantly 
under  their  burden  and  grew  to  hate  the  ragged- 
barked  trees  that  smote  them  so  cruelly  and  so 
roughly  tore  their  flesh.  Ofttimes  they  fell,  roll- 
ing the  maniac  limply  from  his  couch,  but  they 
dragged  him  back  and  strained  forward  to  the 
hideous  racket  of  his  mumblings,  which  grew  louder 
as  his  delirium  increased.  They  were  forced  to 
tie  him  to  the  poles,  but  could  not  stop  his  ghastly 
shriekings.  At  every  pause  the  dismal  ravens 
croaked  and  leered  evilly  from  the  shadows,  till 
Buck  shuddered  and  hid  his  face  while  Crowley 
gnashed  his  teeth.  From  time  to  time  other 
birds  joined  them  in  anticipation  of  the  feast,  till 
they  were  ringed  about,  and  the  sight  of  this  ever- 
growing, grisly,  clamorous  flock  of  watchers  be- 
came awful  to  the  men.  They  felt  the  horny 
talons  searching  their  flesh  and  the  hungry  beaks 
tearing  at  their  eyeballs. 

A  dog-sled  and  birch-bark  practice  covering  both 
banks  of  the  Yukon  for  two  hundred  miles  yielded 
Doc  Lewis  sufficient  revenue  to  grub  -  stake  a 
Swede.  Thus  he  slept  warm,  kept  his  feet  dry, 
and  was  still  a  miner.  He  did  not  believe  in  hard- 
ship, and  eschewed  stampedes.  Yet  when  he  had 
seen  the  last  able-bodied  man  vanish  from  camp 
on  the  Skookum  run  he  grew  restless.  He 
scoffed  at  fake  excitements  to  Jarvis,  the  faro- 
dealer,  who  also  forbore  the  trail  by  virtue  of  his 
calling,  but  he  got  no  satisfaction.  A  fortnight 

286 


THE    STAMPEDE 

later  he  rolled  his  blankets  and  journeyed  toil- 
somely up  the  river  valley. 

"Better  late  than  never,"  he  thought. 

Arriving  at  the  empty  shack  of  the  negroes, 
he  camped,  only  to  awaken  during  the  night  to  the 
roar  of  the  torrent  at  his  door.  Having  seen  other 
mountain  streams  in  the  break-up,  he  waited 
philosophically,  hunting  ptarmigan  among  the  firs 
back  of  the  cabin. 

He  had  lost  track  of  the  days  when,  down  the 
gulch,  in  the  morning  light,  he  descried  a  strange 
party  approaching. 

Two  men  bore  between  them  a  stretcher  made 
from  their  shirts.  They  crawled  with  dreadful 
slowness,  resting  every  hundred  feet.  Moreover, 
they  stumbled  and  staggered  aimlessly  through 
the  niggerheads.  As  they  drew  near  he  sighted 
their  faces,  from  which  the  teeth  grinned  in  a 
grimace  of  torture  and  through  which  the  cheek- 
bones seemed  to  penetrate. 

He  knew  what  the  signs  boded.  For  years  he 
had  ministered  to  these  necessities,  and  no  man 
had  ever  approached  his  success. 

"It  is  the  rape  of  the  North  they  are  doing," 
he  sighed.  "We  ravage  her  stores,  but  she  takes 
grim  toll  from  all  of  us."  He  moved  the  hot 
water  forward  on  the  stove,  cleared  off  the  rude 
table,  and  laid  out  his  instrument-case. 


WHEN  THE   MAIL  CAME  IN 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

WE  didn't  like  Montague  Prosser  at  first — 
he  was  too  clean.  He  wore  his  virtue  like 
a  bath-robe,  flapping  it  in  our  faces.  It  was 
Whitewater  Kelly  who  undertook  to  mitigate  him 
one  day,  but,  being  as  the  nuisance  stood  an 
even  fathom  high  and  had  a  double-action  foot- 
ball motion  about  him,  Whitewater's  endeavors 
kind  of  broke  through  the  ice  and  he  languished 
around  in  his  bunk  the  next  week  while  we  sat 
up  nights  and  changed  his  bandages. 

Yes,  Monty  was  equally  active  at  repartee  or 
rough-house,  and  he  knocked  Whitewater  out 
from  under  his  cap,  slick  and  clean,  just  the  way 
you  snap  a  playing-card  out  from  under  a  coin, 
which  phenomenon  terminated  our  tendencies  to 
scoff  and  carp. 

Personally,  I  didn't  care.  If  a  man  wants  to 
wallow  about  in  a  disgusting  daily  debauch  of 
cleanliness,  it  is  his  privilege.  If  he  squanders  the 
fleeting  moments  brushing  teeth,  cleaning  finger- 
nails, and  such  technicalities,  it  stands  to  reason 
he  won't  have  much  time  left  to  attend  to  his  work 
and  at  the  same  time  cultivate  the  essentials  of 

291 


WHEN    THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

life  like  smoking,  drinking,  and  the  proper  valua- 
tion of  a  three-card  draw.  But,  as  I  say,  it's 
up  to  him,  and  outsiders  who  don't  see  merit  in 
such  a  system  shouldn't  try  to  bust  up  his  game 
unless  they've  got  good  foot-work  and  a  knockout 
punch. 

It  wasn't  so  much  these  physical  refinements 
that  riled  us  as  the  rarefied  atmosphere  of  his 
general  mental  and  moral  altitudes.  To  me 
there's  eloquence  and  sentiment  and  romance  and 
spiritual  uplift  in  a  real,  full-grown,  black-whis- 
kered cuss-word.  It's  a  great  help  in  a  mountain- 
ous country.  Profanity  is  like  steam  in  a  loco- 
motive— takes  more  to  run  you  up-hill  than  on 
the  level,  and  inasmuch  as  there's  only  a  few  men 
on  the  level,  a  violent  vocabulary  is  a  necessity  and 
appeals  to  me  like  a  certificate  of  good  character 
and  general  capability. 

There  wasn't  a  thing  doing  with  Prosser  in  the 
idiom  line,  however.  His  moral  make-up  was  like 
his  body,  big  and  sound  and  white  and  manicured, 
and  although  his  talk,  alongside  of  ours,  listened 
like  it  was  skimmed  and  seminaried,  still  when  we 
got  to  know  him  we  found  that  his  verbal  struc- 
tures had  vital  organs  and  hair  on  their  chests  just 
like  anybody  else's,  and  at  the  same  time  had  the 
advantage  of  being  fit  to  send  through  the  mails. 

He  had  left  a  widowed  mother  and  come  north 
on  the  main  chance,  like  the  rest  of  us,  only  he 
originated  farther  east.  What  made  the  particular 
ten-strike  with  us  was  the  pride  he  took  in  that 

292 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

same  mother.  He  gloried  in  her  and  talked  about 
her  in  that  hushed  and  nervous  way  a  man  speaks 
about  a  real  mother  or  a  regular  sweetheart.  We 
men-folks  liked  him  all  the  better  for  it.  I  say 
we  men,  for  he  was  a  "shine"  with  the  women — 
all  nine  of  them.  The  camp  was  fifteen  hundred 
strong  that  winter,  over  and  above  which  was  the 
aforesaid  galaxy  of  nine,  stranded  on  their  way 
up-river  to  a  Dawson  dance-hall.  The  Yukon 
froze  up  and  they  had  to  winter  with  us.  Of 
course  there  were  the  three  married  ladies,  too, 
living  with  their  husbands  back  on  the  Birch 
Ridge,  but  we  never  saw  them  and  they  didn't 
count.  The  others  went  to  work  at  Eckert's 
theater. 

Monty  would  have  been  right  popular  at 
Eckert's — he  was  a  handsome  lad — but  he  couldn't 
see  those  people  with  a  field-glass.  They  simply 
scandalized  him  to  death. 

"I  love  to  dance,"  said  he,  one  night,  as  we 
looked  on,  "and  the  music  sends  thrills  through 
me,  but  I  won't  do  it." 

"Why  not?"  I  asked.  "This  is  Alaska.  Be 
democratic.  You're  not  so  awfully  nice  that  a 
dance-hall  girl  will  contaminate  you." 

"It's  not  democracy  that  I  lack,  nor  contamina- 
tion that  I'm  afraid  of,"  he  replied.  "It's  the 
principle  back  of  it  all.  If  we  encourage  these 
girls  in  the  lives  they  lead,  we're  just  as  bad  as 
they  are." 

"Look  here,  son,  when  I  quit  salt  water  I  left 
293 


WHEN   THE    MAIL   CAME    IN 

all  that  garbage  and  bilge- water  talk  about  'guilt' 
and  'responsibility'  behind.  The  days  are  too 
short,  the  nights  are  too  cold,  and  grub  is  too  dear 
for  me  to  spare  time  to  theorize.  I  take  people 
the  way  I  take  work  and  play — just  as  they  come 
— and  I'd  advise  you  to  do  the  same." 

"No,  sir;  I  won't  associate  with  gamblers  and 
crooks,  so  why  should  I  hobnob  with  these 
women?  They're  worse  than  the  men,  for  all  the 
gamblers  have  lost  is  their  honesty.  Every  time 
I  see  these  girls  I  think  of  the  little  mother  back 
home.  It's  awful.  Suppose  she  saw  me  dancing 
with  them?" 

Well,  that's  a  bad  line  of  talk  and  I  couldn't 
say  much. 

Of  course,  when  the  actresses  found  out  how  he 
felt  they  came  back  at  him  strong,  but  he  wrapped 
himself  up  in  his  dignity  and  held  himself  aloof 
when  he  came  to  town,  so  he  didn't  seem  to  mind 
it. 

It  was  one  afternoon  in  January,  cold  and  sharp, 
that  Ollie  Marceau's  team  went  through  the  ice 
just  below  our  camp.  She  was  a  great  dog- 
puncher  and  had  the  best  team  in  camp — seven 
fine  malamoots — which  she  drove  every  day. 
When  the  animals  smelled  our  place  they  ran 
away  and  dragged  her  into  the  open  water  below 
the  hot  springs.  She  was  wet  for  ten  minutes, 
and  by  the  time  she  had  got  out  and  stumbled 
to  our  bunk-house  she  was  all  in.  Another  ten 
minutes  with  the  "quick"  at  thirty  below  would 

294 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

have  finished  her,  but  we  rushed  her  in  by  the 
fire  and  made  her  drink  a  glass  of  "hootch." 
Martin  got  her  parka  off  somehow  while  I  slashed 
the  strings  to  her  mukluks  and  had  her  little 
feet  rubbed  red  as  berries  before  she'd  quit 
apologizing  for  the  trouble  she'd  made.  A  fellow 
learns  to  watch  toes  pretty  close  in  the  winter. 

"Lord!  stop  your  talk,"  we  said.  "This  is  the 
first  chance  we  have  had  to  do  anything  for  a  lady 
in  two  years.  It's  a  downright  pleasure  for  us  to 
take  you  in  this  way." 

"Indeed!"  she  chattered.  "Well,  it  isn't  mu- 
tual— And  we  all  laughed. 

We  roused  up  a  good  fire  and  made  her  take 
off  all  the  wet  clothes  she  felt  she  could  afford  to, 
then  wrung  them  out  and  hung  them  up  to  dry. 
We  made  her  gulp  down  another  whisky,  too, 
after  which  I  gave  her  some  footgear  and  she 
slipped  into  one  of  Martin's  Mackinaw  shirts. 
We  knew  just  how  faint  and  shaky  she  felt,  but 
she  was  dead  game  and  joked  with  us  about  it. 

I  never  realized  what  a  cute  trick  she  was  till 
I  saw  her  in  that  great,  coarse,  blue  shirt  with 
her  feet  in  beaded  moccasins,  her  yellow  hair 
touseled,  and  the  sparkle  of  adventure  in  her 
bright  eyes.  She  stood  out  like  a  nugget  by 
candle-light,  backed,  as  she  was,  by  the  dingy 
bark  walls  of  our  cabin. 

I  suppose  it  was  a  bad  instant  for  Prosser  to 
appear.  He  certainly  cued  in  wrong  and  found  the 
sight  shocking  to  his  Plymouth  Rock  proprieties. 

295 


WHEN   THE   MAIL    CAME    IN 

The  raw  liquor  we  had  forced  on  her  had  gone 
to  her  head  a  bit,  as  it  will  when  you're  fresh  from 
the  cold  and  your  stomach  is  empty,  so  her  face 
was  flushed  and  had  a  pretty,  reckless,  daring  look 
to  it.  She  had  her  feet  high  up  on  a  chair,  too — 
not  so  very  high,  either — where  they  were  thawing 
out  under  the  warmth  of  the  oven,  and  we  were 
all  laughing  at  her  story  of  the  mishap. 

Monty  stopped  on  recognizing  who  she  was, 
while  the  surprise  in  his  face  gave  way  to  disap- 
proval. We  could  see  it  as  plain  as  if  it  was 
blazoned  there  in  printer's  ink,  and  it  sobered  us. 
The  girl  removed  her  feet  and  stood  up. 

"Miss  Marceau  has  just  had  an  accident,"  I 
began,  but  I  saw  his  eyes  were  fastened  on  the 
bottle  on  the  table,  and  I  saw  also  that  he  knew 
what  caused  the  fever  in  her  cheeks. 

"Too  bad,"  he  said,  coldly.  "If  I  can  be  of  any 
assistance  you'll  find  me  down  at  the  shaft -house." 
And  out  he  walked. 

I  knew  he  didn't  intend  to  be  inhospitable; 
that  it  was  just  his  infernal  notions  of  decency, 
and  that  he  refused  to  be  a  party  to  anything  as 
devilish  as  this  looked — but  it  wasn't  according 
to  the  Alaska  code,  and  it  was  like  a  slap  in  the 
girl's  face. 

"I  am  quite  dry,"  she  said.    "I'll  be  going  now." 

"You  will  not.  You'll  stay  to  supper  and 
drive  home  by  moonlight,"  says  we.  "Why, 
you'd  freeze  in  a  mile!"  And  we  made  her  listen 
to  us. 

296 


WHEN   THE    MAIL   CAME    IN 

During  the  meal  Prosser  never  opened  his 
mouth  except  to  put  something  into  it,  but  his 
manner  was  as  full  of  language  as  an  oration.  He 
didn't  thaw  out  the  way  a  man  should  when  he 
sees  strangers  wading  into  the  grub  he's  paid  a 
dollar  a  pound  for,  and  when  we'd  finally  sent 
the  young  woman  off  Martin  turned  on  him. 

'Young  feller,"  said  he — and  his  eyes  were 
black — "I've  rattled  around  for  thirty  years  and 
seen  many  a  good  and  many  a  bad  man,  but  I 
never  before  seen  such  an  intelligent  dam'  fool  as 
you  are." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  the  boy. 

' '  You've  broke  about  the  only  law  that  this  here 
country  boasts  of — the  law  of  hospitality." 

"He  didn't  mean  it  that  way,"  I  spoke  up. 
"Did  you,  Monty?" 

"Certainly  not.  I'd  help  anybody  out  of 
trouble — man  or  woman — but  I  refuse  to  mix 
with  that  kind  of  people  socially." 

"'That  kind  of  people,'"  yelled  the  old  man. 
"And  what's  the  matter  with  that  kind  of  people? 
You  come  creeping  out  of  the  milk-and-water 
East,  all  pink  and  perfumed  up,  and  when  you  get 
into  a  bacon-and-beans  country  where  people 
sweat  instead  of  perspiring  you  wrinkle  your  nose 
like  a  calf  and  whine  about  the  kind  of  people  you 
find.  What  do  you  know  about  people,  anyhow? 
Did  you  ever  want  to  steal?" 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Prosser,  who  kept  his 
temper. 

20  297 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

"Did  you  ever  want  to  drink  whisky  so  bad 
you  couldn't  stand  it?" 

"No." 

"Did  you  ever  want  to  kill  a  man?" 

"No." 

"Were  you  ever  broke  and  friendless  and  hope- 
less?" 

"Why,  I  can't  say  I  ever  was." 

"And  you've  never  been  downright  hungry, 
either,  where  you  didn't  know  if  you'd  ever  eat 
again,  have  you?  Then  what  license  have  you  got 
to  blame  people  for  the  condition  you  find  them 
in?  How  do  you  know  what  brought  this  girl 
where  she  is?" 

"Oh,  I  pity  any  woman  who  is  adrift  on  the 
world,  if  that's  what  you  mean,  but  I  won't  make 
a  pet  out  of  her  just  because  she  is  friendless.  She 
must  expect  that  when  she  chooses  her  life.  Her 
kind  are  bad — bad  all  through.  They  must  be." 

"Not  on  your  life.  Decency  runs  deeper  than 
the  hives." 

"Trouble  with  you,"  said  I,  "you've  got  a 
juvenile  standard — things  are  all  good  or  all  bad 
in  your  eyes — and  you  can't  like  a  person  unless 
the  one  overbalances  the  other.  When  you  are 
older  you'll  find  that  people  are  like  gold-mines, 
with  a  thin  streak  of  pay  on  bed-rock  and  lots  of 
hard  digging  above." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  be  discourteous,"  our  man 
continued,  "but  I'll  never  change  my  feelings 
about  such  things.  Mind  you,  I'm  not  preaching, 

298 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

nor  asking  you  to  change  your  habits — all*  I  want 
is  a  chance  to  live  my  own  life  clean." 

The  mail  came  in  during  March,  five  hundred 
pounds  of  it,  and  the  camp  went  daffy. 

Monty  had  the  dogs  harnessed  ten  minutes  after 
we  got  the  news,  and  we  drove  the  four  miles  in 
seventeen  minutes.  I've  known  men  with  sweet- 
hearts outside,  but  I  never  knew  one  to  act 
gladder  than  Monty  did  at  the  thought  of  hear- 
ing from  his  mother. 

"You  must  come  and  see  us  when  you  make 
your  pile,"  he  told  me,  "or — what's  better — we'll 
go  East  together  next  spring  and  surprise  her. 
Won't  that  be  great?  We'll  walk  in  on  her  in  the 
summer  twilight  while  she  is  working  in  her  flower- 
garden.  Can't  you  just  see  the  green  trees  and 
smell  the  good  old  smells  of  home?  The  cat- 
birds will  be  calling  and  the  grass  will  be  clean  and 
sweet.  Why,  I'm  so  tired  of  the  cold  and  the 
snow  and  the  white,  white  mountains  that  I  can 
hardly  stand  it." 

He  ran  on  in  that  vein  all  the  way  to  town,  glad 
and  hopeful  and  boyish — and  I  wondered  why, 
with  his  earnestness  and  loyalty  and  broad 
shoulders,  he  had  never  loved  any  woman  but  his 
mother.  When  I  was  twenty-three  my  whole 
romantic  system  had  been  mangled  and  shredded 
from  heart  to  gizzard.  Still,  some  men  get  their 
age  all  in  a  lump;  they're  boys  up  till  the  last 
minute,  then  they  get  the  Rip  Van  Winkle  while 
you  wait. 

299 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

This  morning  was  bitter,  but  the  "sour  doughs" 
were  lined  up  outside  the  store,  waiting  their  turns 
like  a  crowd  of  Parsifal  first-nighters,  so  we  fell 
in  with  the  rest,  whipping  our  arms  and  stamping 
our  moccasins  till  the  chill  ate  into  our  very  bones. 
It  took  hours  to  sort  the  letters,  but  not  a  man 
whimpered.  When  you  wait  for  vital  news  a 
tension  comes  that  chokes  complaint.  There 
was  no  joking  here,  nor  that  elephantine  persiflage 
which  marks  rough  men  when  they  forgather  in 
the  wilderness.  They  were  the  fellows  who  blazed 
the  trail,  bearded,  shaggy,  and  not  pretty  to  look 
at,  for  they  all  knew  hardship  and  went  out  strong- 
hearted  into  this  silent  land,  jesting  with  danger 
and  singing  in  the  solitudes.  Here  in  the  presence 
of  the  Mail  they  laid  aside  their  cloaks  of  care- 
lessness and  saw  one  another  bared  to  the  quick, 
timid  with  hunger  for  the  wives  and  little  ones 
behind. 

There  were  a  few  like  Prosser,  in  whom  there  was 
still  the  glamour  of  the  Northland  and  the  mystery 
of  the  unknown,  but  they  were  scattered,  and  in 
their  eyes  the  anxious  light  was  growing  also. 

Five  months  is  a  wearying  time,  and  silent  sus- 
pense will  sap  the  courage.  If  only  one  could 
banish  worry;  but  the  long,  unbearable  nights 
when  the  mind  leaps  and  scurries  out  into  the 
voids  of  conjecture  like  sparks  from  a  chimney- 
well,  it's  then  you  roll  in  your  bunk  and  your  sigh 
ain't  from  the  snow-shoe  pain. 

A  half -frozen  man  in  an  ice-clogged  dory  had 
300 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

brought  us  our  last  news,  one  October  day,  just 
before  the  river  stopped,  and  now,  after  five 
months,  the  curtain  parted  again. 

I  saw  McGill,  the  lawyer,  in  the  line  ahead  of 
me  and  noted  the  grayness  of  his  cheeks,  the 
nervous  way  his  lips  worked,  and  the  futile,  wan- 
dering, uselessness  of  his  hands.  Then  I  remem- 
bered. When  his  letter  came  the  fall  before  it 
said  the  wife  was  very  low,  that  the  crisis  was  near, 
and  that  they  would  write  again  in  a  few  days. 
He  had  lived  this  endless  time  with  Fear  stalking 
at  his  shoulder.  He  had  lain  down  with  it  nightly 
and  risen  with  it  grinning  at  him  in  the  slow,  cold 
dawn.  The  boys  had  told  me  how  well  he  fought 
it  back  week  after  week,  but  now,  edging  inch  by 
inch  toward  the  door  behind  which  lay  his  message, 
it  got  the  best  of  him. 

I  wrung  his  hand  and  tried  to  say  something. 

"I  want  to  run  away,"  he  quavered.  "But  I'm 
afraid  to." 

When  we  got  in  at  last  we  met  men  coming  out, 
and  in  some  faces  we  saw  the  marks  of  tragedy. 
Others  smiled,  and  these  put  heart  into  us. 

Old  man  Tomlinson  had  four  little  girls  back 
in  Idaho.  He  got  two  letters.  One  was  a  six- 
months-old  tax-receipt,  the  other  a  laundry  bill. 
That  meant  three  months  more  of  silence. 

When  my  turn  came  and  I  saw  the  writing  of  the 
little  woman  something  gripped  me  by  the  throat, 
while  I  saw  my  hands  shake  as  if  they  belonged  to 
somebody  else.  My  news  was  good,  though,  and 

301 


WHEN   THE    MAIL   CAME    IN 

I  read  it  slowly — some  parts  twice — then  at  last 
when  I  looked  up  I  found  McGill  near  me.  Un- 
consciously we  had  both  sought  a  quiet  corner, 
but  he  had  sunk  on  to  a  box.  Now,  as  I  glanced 
at  him  I  saw  what  made  me  shiver.  The  Fear 
was  there  again — naked  and  ugly — for  he  held 
one  lonesome  letter,  and  its  inscription  was  in  no 
woman's  hand.  He  had  crouched  there  by  my 
side  all  this  time,  staring,  staring,  staring  at  it, 
afraid  to  read — afraid  to  open  it.  Some  men 
smile  in  their  agony,  shifting  their  pitiful  masks 
to  the  last,  others  curse,  and  no  two  will  take  their 
blows  alike. 

McGill  was  plucking  feebly  at  the  end  of  his 
envelope,  tearing  off  tiny  bits,  dropping  the 
fragments  at  his  feet.  Now  and  then  he  stopped, 
and  when  he  did  he  shuddered. 

"Buck  up,  old  pal,"  I  said. 

Then,  recognizing  me,  he  thrust  the  missive  into 
my  hand. 

"Tell  me — for  God's  sake — tell  me  quick. 
I  can't—  No,  no — wait!  Not  yet.  Don't  tell 
me.  I'll  know  from  your  face.  They  said  she 
couldn't  live — ': 

But  she  had,  and  he  watched  me  so  fiercely 
that  when  the  light  came  into  my  face  he  snatched 
the  letter  from  me  like  a  madman. 

"Ah-h!  Give  it  to  me!  Give  it  to  me!  I 
knew  it!  I  told  you  they  couldn't  fool  me.  No, 
sir.  I  felt  all  the  time  she'd  make  it.  Why,  I 
knew  it  in  my  marrow!" 

302 


WHEN   THE    MAIL   CAME    IN 

"What's  the  date?"  I  inquired. 

"September  thirtieth,"  he  said.  Then,  as  he 
realized  how  old  it  was,  he  began  to  worry  again. 

"Why  didn't  they  write  later?  They  must 
know  I'll  eat  my  heart  out.  Suppose  she's  had  a 
relapse.  That's  it.  They  wrote  too  soon,  and  now 
they  don't  dare  tell  me.  She — got  worse — died — 
months  ago,  and  they're  afraid  to  let  me  know." 

"Stop  it,"  I  said,  and  reasoned  sanity  back  into 
him. 

Monty  had  taken  his  mail  and  run  off  like  a 
puppy  to  feast  in  quiet,  so  I  went  over  to  Eckert's 
and  had  a  drink. 

Sam  winked  at  me  as  I  came  in.  A  man  was 
reading  from  a  letter. 

"Go  on.    I'm  interested,"  said  the  proprietor. 

The  fellow  was  getting  full  pretty  fast  and  was 
down  to  the  garrulous  stage,  but  he  began  again: 

"DEAR  HUSBAND, — I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  have 
been  so  unfortunate,  but  don't  get  discouraged.  I  know 
you  will  make  a  good  miner  if  you  stick  to  it  long  enough. 
Don't  worry  about  me.  I  have  rented  the  front  room  to  a 
very  nice  man  for  fifteen  dollars  a  week.  The  papers  here 
are  full  of  a  gold  strike  in  Siberia,  just  across  Bering  Sea 
from  where  you  are.  If  you  don't  find  something  during  the 
next  two  years,  why  not  try  it  over  there  for  a  couple?" 

"That's  what  I  call  a  persevering  woman,"  said 
Eckert,  solemnly. 

"She's  a  business  woman,  too,"  said  the  hus- 
band. "All  I  ever  got  for  that  room  was  seven- 
fifty  a  week." 

303 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

It  seems  I'd  missed  Montague  at  the  store,  but 
when  the  crowd  came  out  Ollie  Marceau  found 
him  away  in  at  the  back,  having  gone  there  to  be 
alone  with  his  letters.  She  saw  the  utter  abandon 
and  grief  in  his  pose,  and  the  tears  came  to  her 
eyes.  Impulsively  she  went  up  and  laid  her  hand 
on  his  bowed  head.  She  had  followed  the  frontier 
enough  to  know  the  signs. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Prosser,"  she  said,  "I'm  so  sorry! 
Is  it  the  little  mother?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  without  moving. 

"Not — not — "  she  hesitated. 

' '  I  don't  know.  The  letters  are  up  to  the  middle 
of  December,  and  she  was  very  sick." 

Then,  with  the  quick  sentiment  of  her  kind,  the 
girl  spoke  to  him,  forgetting  herself,  her  life,  his 
prejudice,  everything  except  the  lonely  little  gray 
woman  off  there  who  had  waited  and  longed 
just  as  such  another  had  waited  and  longed  for 
her,  and,  inasmuch  as  Ollie  had  suffered  before  as 
this  boy  suffered  now,  in  her  words  there  was  a 
sweet  sympathy  and  a  perfect  understanding. 

It  was  very  fine,  I  think,  coming  so  from  her, 
and  when  the  first  shock  had  passed  over  he  felt 
that  here,  among  all  these  rugged  men,  there  was 
no  one  to  give  him  the  comfort  he  craved  except 
this  child  of  the  dance-halls.  Compassion  and 
sympathy  he  could  get  from  any  of  us,  but  he  was 
a  boy  and  this  was  his  first  grief,  so  he  yearned  for 
something  more,  something  subtler,  perhaps  the 
delicate  comprehension  of  a  woman.  At  any 

304 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

rate,  he  wouldn't  let  her  leave  him,  and  the 
tender-hearted  lass  poured  out  all  the  best  her 
warm  nature  afforded. 

In  a  few  days  he  braced  up,  however,  and  stood 
his  sorrow  like  the  rest  of  us.  It  made  him  more 
of  a  man  in  many  ways.  For  one  thing,  he  never 
scoffed  now  at  any  of  the  nine  women,  which, 
taken  as  an  indication,  was  good.  In  fact,  I  saw 
him  several  times  with  the  Marceau  girl,  for  he 
found  her  always  ready  and  responsive,  and  came 
to  confide  in  her  rather  than  in  Martin  or  me,  which 
was  quite  natural.  Martin  spoke  about  it  first. 

"I  hate  to  see  'em  together  so  much,"  said  he. 
"One  of  'em  is  going  to  fall  in  love,  sure,  and  it 
won't  be  reciprocated  none.  It  would  serve  him 
right  to  get  it  hard,  but  if  she's  hit — it  '11  be  too 
dam'  pitiful.  You  an'  I  will  have  to  combine 
forces  and  beat  him  up,  I  reckon." 

The  days  were  growing  long  and  warm,  the 
hills  were  coming  bare  on  the  heights,  while  the 
snow  packed  wet  at  midday  when  we  went  into 
town  to  sled  out  grub  for  the  clean-up.  We  found 
everybody  else  there  for  the  same  purpose,  so  the 
sap  began  to  run  through  the  camp.  We  were 
loading  at  the  trading-post  the  next  day  when  I 
heard  the  name  of  Ollie  Marceau.  It  was  a  big- 
limbed  fellow  from  Alder  Creek  talking,  and,  as 
he  showed  no  liquor  in  his  face,  what  he  said 
sounded  all  the  worse.  I  have  heard  as  bad  many 
a  time  without  offense,  for  there  is  no  code  of 
loyalty  concerning  these  girls,  but  Ollie  had  got 

305 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

my  sympathy,  somehow,  and  I  resented  the  re- 
marks, particularly  the  laughter.  So  did  Prosser, 
the  Puritan.  He  looked  up  from  his  work,  white 
and  dangerous. 

"Don't  talk  that  way  about  a  girl,"  said  he  to 
the  stranger,  and  it  made  a  sensation  among  the 
crowd. 

I  never  knew  a  man  before  with  courage  enough 
to  kick  in  public  on  such  subjects.  As  it  was,  the 
man  said  something  so  much  worse  that  right 
there  the  front  busted  out  of  the  tiger-cage  and 
for  a  few  brief  moments  we  were  given  over  to 
chaos. 

I  had  seen  Whitewater  walloped  and  I  knew  how 
full  of  parlor  tricks  the  kid  was,  but  this  time  he 
went  insane.  He  knocked  that  man  off  the  coun- 
ter at  the  first  pass  and  climbed  him  with  his  hob- 
nails as  he  lay  on  the  floor.  A  fight  is  a  fight,  and 
a  good  thing  for  spectators  and  participants,  for 
it  does  more  to  keep  down  scurvy  than  anything 
I  know  of,  but  the  thud  of  those  heavy  boots  into 
that  helpless  flesh  sickened  me,  and  we  rushed 
Prosser  out  of  there  while  he  struggled  like  a 
maniac.  I  never  saw  such  a  complete  reversal  of 
form.  Somewhere,  away  back  yonder,  that  boy's 
forefathers  were  pirates  or  cannibals  or  butchers. 

When  the  fog  had  cleared  out  of.  his  brain  the 
reaction  was  just  as  powerful.  I  took  him  out  alone 
while  the  others  worked  over  the  Alder  Creek 
party,  and  all  at  once  my  man  fell  apart  like  wet 
sawdust. 

306 


WHEN   THE    MAIL   CAME    IN 

"What  made  me  do  it — what  made  me  do  it?" 
he  cried.  "I'm  crazy.  Why,  I  tried  to  kill  him! 
And  yet  what  he  said  is  true — that's  the  worst  of 
it — it's  true.  Think  of  it,  and  I  fought  for  her. 
What  am  I  coming  to?" 

After  the  clean-up  we  came  to  camp,  waiting  for 
the  river  to  break  and  the  first  boat  to  follow.  It 
was  then  that  the  suspense  began  to  tell  on  our 
partner.  He  read  and  reread  his  letters,  but  there 
was  little  hope  in  them,  and  now,  with  no  work  to 
do,  he  grew  nervous.  Added  to  everything  else, 
our  food  ran  short,  and  we  lived  on  scraps  of  what- 
ever was  left  over  from  our  winter  grub-stake. 
Just  out  of  cussedness  the  break-up  was  ten  days 
late,  the  ten  longest  days  I  ever  put  in,  but  eventu- 
ally it  came,  and  a  week  later  also  came  the  mail. 
We  needed  food  and  clothes,  we  needed  whisky, 
we  needed  news  of  the  great,  distant  world — but 
all  we  thought  of  was  our  mail. 

The  boy  had  decided  to  go  home.  We  were 
sorry  to  see  him  leave,  too,  for  he  had  the  makings 
of  a  real  man  in  him  even  if  he  shaved  three  times 
a  week,  but  no  sooner  was  the  steamer  tied  than 
he  came  plunging  into  my  tent  like  a  moose, 
laughing  and  dancing  in  his  first  gladness.  The 
mother  was  well  again. 

Later  I  went  aboard  to  give  him  the  last  lone- 
some good  wishes  of  the  fellow  who  stays  behind 
and  fights  along  for  another  year.  The  big 
freighter,  with  her  neat  staterooms  and  long, 
glass-burdened  tables,  awoke  a  perfect  panic  in 

3°7 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

me  to  be  going  with  him,  to  shake  this  cruel 
country  and  drift  back  to  the  home  and  the  wife 
and  the  pies  like  mother  made. 

I  found  him  on  the  top  deck  with  the  Marceau 
girl,  who  was  saying  good-by  to  him.  There 
was  a  look  about  her  I  had  never  seen  before,  and 
all  at  once  the  understanding  and  the  bitter  irony 
of  it  struck  me.  This  poor  waif  hadn't  had 
enough  to  stand,  so  Love  had  come  to  her,  just 
as  Kink  had  predicted — a  hopeless  love  which 
she  would  have  to  fight  the  way  she  fought  the 
whole  world.  It  made  me  bitter  and  cynical,  but 
I  admired  her  nerve — she  was  dressed  for  the 
sacrifice,  trim  and  well-curried  as  a  thousand- 
dollar  pony.  Back  of  her  smile,  though,  I  saw 
the  waiting  tears,  and  my  heart  bled.  Spring  is 
a  fierce  time  for  romance,  anyhow. 

There  wasn't  time  to  say  much,  so  I  squeezed 
Monty's  hand  like  a  cider-press. 

"God  bless  you,  lad!  You  must  come  back  to 
us,"  I  said,  but  he  shook  his  head,  and  I  heard 
the  girl's  breath  catch.  I  continued,  "Come  on, 
Ollie;  I'll  help  you  ashore." 

We  stood  on  the  bank  there  together  and 
watched  the  last  of  him,  tall  and  clear-cut  against 
the  white  of  the  wheel-house,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
when  he  had  gone  that  something  bright  and 
vital  and  young  had  passed  out  of  me,  leaving  in 
its  stead  discouragement  and  darkness  and  age. 

"Would  you  mind  walking  with  me  up  to  my 
cabin?"  Ollie  asked. 

308 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

"Of  course  not,"  I  said,  and  we  went  down  the 
long  street,  past  the  theater,  the  trading-post,  and 
the  saloons,  till  we  came  to  the  hill  where  her 
little  nest  was  perched.  Every  one  spoke  and 
smiled  to  her  and  she  answered  in  the  same  way, 
though  I  knew  she  was  on  parade  and  holding 
herself  with  firm  hands.  As  we  came  near  to  the 
end  and  her  pace  quickened,  however,  and  I 
guessed  the  panic  that  was  on  her  to  be  alone 
where  she  could  drop  her  mask  and  become  a 
woman — a  poor,  weak,  grief-stricken  woman. 
But  when  we  were  inside  at  last  her  manner 
astounded  me.  She  didn't  throw  herself  on  her 
couch  nor  go  to  pieces,  as  I  had  dreaded,  but 
turned  on  me  with  burning  eyes  and  her  hands 
tight  clenched,  while  her  voice  was  throaty  and 
hoarse.  The  words  came  tumbling  out  in  con- 
fusion. 

"I've  let  him  go,"  she  said.  "Yes,  and  you 
helped  me.  Only  for  you  I'd  have  broken  down; 
but  I  want  you  to  know  I've  done  one  good  thing 
at  last  in  my  miserable  life.  I've  held  in.  He 
never  knew — he  never  knew.  O  God !  what  fools 
men  are!" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "you  did  mighty  well.  He's  a 
sensitive  chap,  and  if  you'd  broken  down  he'd 
have  felt  awful  bad." 

"What!" 

She  grasped  me  by  the  coat  lapels  and  shook 
me.  Yes!  That  weak  little  woman  shook  me, 
while  her  face  went  perfectly  livid. 

3°9 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

"'He'd  have  felt  badly,'  eh?  Man!  Man! 
Didn't  you  see!  Are  you  blind?  Why,  he  asked 
me  to  go  with  him.  He  asked  me  to  marry  him. 
Think  of  it — that  great,  wonderful  man  asked  me 
to  be  his  wife — me — Olive  Marceau,  the  dancer! 
Oh,  oh!  Isn't  it  funny?  Why  don't  you  laugh?" 

I  didn't  laugti.  I  stood  there,  picking  pieces 
of  fur  out  of  my  cap  and  wondering  if  ever  I 
should  see  another  woman  like  this  one.  She 
paced  about  over  the  skin  rugs,  tearing  at  the 
throat  of  her  dress  as  if  it  choked  her.  There  were 
no  tears  in  her  eyes,  but  her  whole  frame  shook 
and  shuddered  as  if  from  great  cold,  deep  set  in 
her  bones. 

' '  Why  didn't  you  go  ?"  I  asked,  stupidly.  ' '  You 
love  him,  don't  you?" 

"You  know  why  I  didn't  go,"  she  cried,  fiercely. 
"I  couldn't.  How  could  I  go  back  and  meet  his 
mother?  Some  day  she'd  find  me  out  and  it 
would  vSpoil  his  life.  No,  no!  If  only  she  hadn't 
recovered —  No,  I  don't  mean  that,  either.  I'm 
not  his  kind,  that's  all.  Ah,  God !  I  let  him  go — 
I  let  him  go,  and  he  never  knew!" 

She  was  writhing  now  on  her  bed  in  a  perfect 
frenzy,  calling  to  him  brokenly,  stretching  out  her 
arms  while  great,  dry,  coughing  sobs  wrenched  her. 

"Little  one,"  I  said,  unsteadily,  and  my  throat 
ached  so  that  I  couldn't  trust  myself,  "you're  a 
brave — girl,  and  you're  his  kind  or  anybody's  kind. ' ' 

With  that  the  rain  came,  and  so  I  left  her  alone 
with  her  comforting  misery.  When  I  told  Kink 

310 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

he  sputtered  like  a  pin  wheel,  and  every  evening 
thereafter  we  two  went  up  to  her  house  and  sat 
with  her.  We  could  do  this  because  she'd  quit 
the  theater  the  day  the  boat  took  Prosser  away, 
and  she  wouldn't  heed  Eckert's  offers  to  go  back. 

"I'm  through  with  it  for  good,"  she  told  us, 
"though  I  don't  know  what  else  I'm  good  for. 
You  see,  I  don't  know  anything  useful,  but  I 
suppose  I  can  learn." 

"Now,  if  I  wasn't  married  already — "  I  said. 

"Humph!"  snorted  Kink.  "I  ain't  so  young 
as  neither  one  of  my  pardners,  miss,  but  I'm  pos- 
sessed of  rare  intellectual  treasures." 

She  laughed  at  both  of  us. 

When  a  week  had  passed  after  the  first  boat 
went  down  with  Prosser,  we  began  to  look  daily 
for  the  first  up-river  steamer,  bringing  word  direct 
from  the  outside  world.  It  came  one  midnight, 
and  as  we  were  getting  dressed  to  go  to  the  land- 
ing our  tent  was  torn  open  and  Montague  tumbled 
in  upon  us. 

"What  brought  you  back?"  we  questioned  when 
we'd  finished  mauling  him. 

It  was  June,  and  the  nights  were  as  light  as  day 
in  this  latitude,  so  we  could  see  his  face  plainly. 

"Why — er—  He  hesitated  for  an  instant, 
then  threw  back  his  head,  squared  his  great 
young  shoulders,  and  looked  us  in  the  eyes,  while 
all  his  embarrassment  fled.  "I  came  back  to 
marry  Olive  Marceau,"  said  he.  "I  came  to  take 
her  back  home  to  the  little  mother." 


WHEN   THE    MAIL    CAME    IN 

He  stared  out  wistfully  at  the  distant  southern 
mountains,  effulgent  and  glorified  by  the  midnight 
sun  which  lay  so  close  behind  their  crests,  and  I 
winked  at  Martin. 

"She's  left—" 

1 '  What !"     He  whirled  quickly. 

" — the  theater,  and  I  don't  suppose  you  can  see 
her  until  to-morrow." 

Disappointment  darkened  his  face. 

"Besides,"  Kink  added,  gloomily,  "when  you 
quit  her  like  a  dog  I  slicked  myself  up  some,  and 
I  ain't  anyways  sure  she'll  care  to  see  you  now — 
only  jest  as  a  friend  of  mine.  Notice  I've  cut 
my  whiskers,  don't  you?" 

We  made  Monty  pay  for  that  instant's  hesita- 
tion, the  last  he  ever  had,  and  then  I  said : 

"You  walk  up  the  river  trail  for  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  and  wait.  If  I  can  persuade  her  to  come  out 
at  this  hour  I'll  send  her  to  you.  No,  you  couldn't 
find  her.  She's  moved  since  you  left." 

"I  wouldn't  gamble  none  on  her  meetin'  you," 
Martin  said,  discouragingly,  and  combed  out  his 
new-mown  beard  with  ostentation. 

She  was  up  the  moment  I  knocked,  and  when 
I  said  that  a  man  needed  help  I  heard  her  murmur 
sympathetically  as  she  dressed.  When  we  came 
to  our  tent  I  stopped  her. 

"He's  up  yonder  a  piece,"  said  I.  "You  run 
along  while  I  fetch  Kink  and  the  medicine-kit. 
We'll  overtake  you." 

"Is  it  anything  serious?" 
312 


WHEN   THE    MAIL   CAME    IN 

"Yes,  it's  apt  to  be  unless  you  hurry.  He 
seems  to  think  he  needs  you  pretty  badly." 

And  so  she  went  up  the  river  trail  to  where  he 
was  waiting,  her  way  golden  with  the  beams  of  the 
sun  whose  rim  peeped  at  her  over  the  far-off  hills. 
And  there,  in  the  free,  still  air,  among  the  virgin 
spruce,  with  the  clean,  sweet  moss  beneath  their 
feet,  they  met.  The  good  sun  smiled  broadly 
at  them  now,  and  the  grim  Yukon  hurried  past, 
chuckling  under  its  banks  and  swiggering  among 
the  roots,  while  the  song  it  sang  was  of  spring  and 
of  long,  bright  days  that  had  no  night. 

21 


McGILL 


McGILL 

THE  ice  was  running  when  McGill  arrived. 
Had  he  been  two  hours  later  he  might  have 
fared  badly,  for  the  ramparts  above  Ophir  choke 
the  river  down  into  a  narrow  chute  through  which 
it  hurries,  snarling,  and  the  shore  ice  was  widening 
at  the  rate  of  a  foot  an  hour.  Early  in  the  day 
the  recorder  from  Alder  Creek  had  tried  to  come 
ashore,  but  had  broken  through,  losing  his  skiff 
and  saving  his  life  by  the  sheer  good  luck  that 
favors  fools  and  drunken  men.  It  was  October; 
the  last  mail  had  gone  out  a  fortnight  previous; 
the  wiseacres  were  laying  odds  that  the  river 
would  be  closed  in  three  days,  so  it  was  close  run- 
ning that  McGill  made — six  hundred  miles  in  an 
open  whip-sawed  dory. 

They  heard  him  calling,  once  he  saw  the  lights, 
and,  getting  down  to  the  water-level,  they  could 
make  out  his  boat  crunching  along  through  the 
thin  ice  at  the  outer  edge.  He  was  trying  to 
force  his  way  inward  to  a  point  where  the  current 
would  not  move  him,  but  the  Yukon  spun  him 
like  a  top,  and  it  looked  as  if  he  would  go  past. 
Fortunately,  however,  there  happened  to  be  a 


McGILL 

man  in  the  crowd  who  had  learned  tricks  with  a 
lariat  back  in  Oklahoma;  a  line  was  put  out,  and 
McGill  came  ashore  with  his  bedding  under  one 
arm  and  a  sheet-iron  stove  under  the  other. 
Stoves  were  scarce  that  winter,  and  McGill  was 
no  tenderfoot. 

They  obtained  their  first  good  look  at  him  when 
he  lined  up  with  the  crowd  at  Hopper's  bar,  ten 
minutes  later,  by  which  time  it  was  known  who 
he  was.  He  had  a  great  big  frame,  with  a  great 
big  face  on  top  of  it,  and,  judging  from  his  reputa- 
tion, he  had  a  great  big  heart  to  match  them  both. 
Some  of  the  late-comers  recalled  a  tale  of  how  he 
had  lifted  the  gunwales  out  >  of  a  poling-boat  that 
was  wedged  in  a  timber-jam  above  White  Horse, 
and  from  the  looks  of  his  massive  hands  and 
shoulders  the  tale  seemed  true.  He  was  not 
handsome — few  strong  men  are — but  he  had  level, 
blue  eyes,  rather  small  and  deep  set,  and  a  jaw 
that  made  people  think  twice  before  angering  him, 
while  his  voice  carried  the  rumbling  bass  note 
one  hears  at  the  edge  of  a  spring  freshet  when  the 
boulders  are  shifting. 

"I  missed  the  last  boat  from  Circle,"  he  ex- 
plained, "so  I  took  a  chance  with  the  skiff." 

"Looks  like  you'd  be  the  last  arrival  before  the 
trails  open,"  offered  Hopper.  "I  don't  guess 
there's  nobody  behind  you?" 

"I  didn't  pass  anybody,"  said  McGill,  and  it 
was  plain  from  his  smile  that  he  had  made  good 
time. 

318 


McGILL 

"Aim  to  winter  here,  Dan?" 

"I  do.  Minook  told  me,  four  summers  ago, 
that  he'd  found  a  prospect  near  here,  and  I've 
always  figgered  on  putting  some  holes  down.  But 
it  looks  like  I'm  late." 

"Oh,  there's  plenty  of  ground  open.  You've 
got  as  good  a  chance  as  the  balance  of  us." 

"Any  grub  in  camp?" 

"Nope.     Ophir  was  struck  too  late  in  the  fall." 

McGill  laughed.  "I  didn't  think  there  would 
be;  but  that's  nothing  new." 

"Didn't  you  bring  none?" 

"Nary  a  pound.  There's  women  and  children 
at  the  Circle,  and  there  wasn't  more  than  enough 
for  them,  so  I  pulled  out." 

"There's  plenty  below,"  Hopper  assured  him. 

"How  far?" 

"We  don't  know  yet.  There's  a  boat-load  of 
'chekakos'  bound  for  Dawson  somewhere  be- 
tween here  and  Cochrane's  Landing.  They'll  be 
froze  in  now,  and  tenderfeet  always  has  grub. 
Soon's  we  get  some  more  snow  we'll  do  some 
freightin'." 

Before  he  retired  that  night  McGill  had  bought 
a  town  lot,  and  a  week  later  there  was  a  cabin  on 
it,  for  he  was  a  man  who  knew  how  to  work. 
Then,  during  the  interval  between  the  close  of 
navigation  and  the  opening  of  winter  travel  he 
looked  over  the  country  and  staked  some  claims. 
He  did  not  locate  at  random,  but  used  a  dis- 
crimination based  upon  ten  years'  experience  in 

319 


McGILL 

the  arctics,  and  when  cold  weather  set  in  he  felt 
satisfied  with  his  work.  Men  with  half  his  hold- 
ings reckoned  their  fortunes  at  extravagant  fig- 
ures; transfers  of  unproved  properties  for  hand- 
some terms  were  common;  millions  were  made 
daily,  on  paper. 

Soon  after  the  winter  had  settled,  two  strangers 
' '  mushed ' '  in  from  down-river.  For  ten  days  they 
had  pulled  their  own  sled  through  the  first  dry, 
trackless  snow  of  the  season,  and  they  were  well 
spent,  but  they  brought  news  that  the  steamboat 
was  in  winter  quarters  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
below.  They  assured  McGill,  moreover,  that 
there  was  plenty  of  food  aboard,  so,  a  day  later, 
he  set  off  on  their  back  trail  with  his  dog-team. 
By  now  the  melancholy  autumn  was  gone,  the  air 
was  frozen  clean  of  every  taint,  the  frost  made 
men's  blood  gallop  through  their  veins.  It 
changed  McGill  into  a  boy  again.  His  lungs 
ached  from  the  throbbing  power  within  them,  his 
loping  stride  was  as  smooth  as  that  of  a  timber- 
wolf,  his  loud,  deep  laughter  caused  the  dogs  to 
yelp  in  answer. 

When  he  finally  burst  out  of  the  silence  and 
into  the  midst  of  the  gold-seekers  with  tidings  of 
the  new  camp  only  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  away 
they  shook  off  their  lethargy  and  awoke  to  a  great 
excitement.  He  told  all  he  honestly  knew  about 
Ophir,  and  with  nimble  fancies  they  added  two 
words  of  their  own  to  every  one  of  his.  They 
Stopped  work  upon  their  winter  quarters  and  made 

329 


McGILL 

ready  to  push  on  afoot — on  hands  and  knees,  if 
necessary.  Here  was  a  man  who  had  made  a 
fortune  in  one  short  autumn,  for  with  the  cus- 
tomary ignorance  of  tenderfeet  they  perceived  no 
distinction  between  a  mining  claim  and  a  mine. 
A  gold-mine,  they  reasoned,  was  worth  any- 
thing one  wished  to  imagine,  from  a  hundred 
thousand  to  a  million;  thirty  gold-mines  were 
worth  thirty  millions — figure  it  out  for  yourself. 
The  conservative  ones  cut  the  result  in  half  and 
were  well  satisfied  with  it.  They  were  glad  they 
had  come. 

The  steamboat  captain  offered  McGill  a  bed  in 
his  own  cabin,  for  the  log  houses  were  not  yet 
completed,  and  that  night  at  supper  the  miner 
met  the  rest  of  the  big  family.  Among  them  was  a 
girl.  Once  McGill  had  beheld  her,  he  could  see 
none  of  the  others;  he  became  an  automaton, 
directing  his  words  at  random,  but  focusing  his 
soul  upon  her.  He  could  not  recall  her  name,  for 
her  first  glance  had  driven  all  memory  out  of  his 
head,  and  during  the  meal  he  feasted  his  hungry- 
eyes  upon  her,  feeling  a  yearning  such  as  he  had 
never  before  experienced.  He  did  not  pause  to 
argue  what  it  foretold;  it  is  doubtful  if  he  would 
have  realized  had  he  taken  time  to  think,  for  he 
had  never  known  women  well,  and  ten  years  in 
the  Yukon  country  had  dimmed  what  youthful 
recollections  he  possessed.  When  he  went  to  bed 
he  was  in  a  daze  that  did  not  vanish  even  when  the 
captain,  after  carefully  locking  the  doors  and  clos- 

321 


McGILL 

"  i* 
ing  the  cabin  shutters,  crawled  under  the  bunk 

and  brought  forth  a  five-gallon  keg  of  whisky, 
which  he  fondled  like  a  mother  her  babe. 

"Wait  till  you  taste  it,"  crooned  the  old  man. 
"Nothing  like  it  north  of  Vancouver.  If  I  didn't 
keep  it  hid  I'd  have  a  mutiny." 

He  removed  a  steaming  kettle  from  the  stove, 
then,  unearthing  some  sugar  from  the  chart-case, 
mixed  a  toddy,  muttering:  "Just  wait,  that's  all. 
You  just  wait!"  With  the  pains  of  a  chemist  he 
divided  the  beverage  into  two  equal  portions, 
rolled  the  contents  of  his  own  glass  under  his 
tongue  with  a  look  of  beatitude  on  his  wrinkled 
features,  then  inquired,  "What  did  I  tell  you?" 

"It's  great, ' '  McGill  acknowledged.  ' ' First  real 
liquor  I've  tasted  for  months."  Then  he  fell  to 
staring  at  the  fire. 

After  a  time  he  asked,  "Who's  the  lady  I  was 
talking  to?" 

"The  one  with  the  red  sweater?" 

"Yes." 

"Miss  Andrews.     Her  first  name  is  Alice." 
'   ' ' Alice !"     McGill  spoke  it  softly.     ' '  I— I  s'pose 
she's  married,  of  course?" 

"No,  Miss  Andrews." 

McGill  started.  ' '  I  thought  she  was  the  wife  of 
that  nice-looking  feller,  Barclay." 

The  captain  grunted,  and  then  after  a  moment 
added,  "She's  an  actor  of  some  kind." 

McGill  opened  his  eyes  in  genuine  astonishment. 
He  opened  his  mouth  also,  but  changed  his  mind 

322 


McGILL 

and  fell  to  studying  the  flames  once  more.  "She's 
plumb  beautiful,"  he  said  at  length. 

"All  actors  is  beautiful,"  the  captain  remarked, 
wisely. 

McGill  slept  badly  that  night,  which  was  un- 
usual for  him,  but  when  he  went  to  feed  his  dogs 
on  the  following  morning  he  found  Miss  Andrews 
ahead  of  him. 

"What  splendid  creatures!"  she  said,  petting 
them. 

"Do  you  like  dogs?"  he  queried. 

"I  love  them.  You  know,  these  are  the  first 
I  have  ever  seen  of  this  kind." 

"Then  you  never  rode  behind  a  team?" 

"No.    I  have  only  read  about  such  things." 

McGill  summoned  his  courage  and  said,  ' '  Mebbe 
you'd  like  me  to — give  you  a  ride?" 

"Would  you?  Oh,  Mr.  McGill!"  She  clapped 
her  hands,  and  her  eyes  widened  at  the  prospect. 

He  noted  how  the  brisk  air  had  brought  the 
blood  to  her  cheeks,  but  broke  off  the  dangerous 
contemplation  of  her  charms  and  fell  to  harnessing 
the  team,  his  fingers  stiff  with  embarrassment. 
He  helped  her  into  the  basket-sled  and  then,  at  her 
request,  tucked  in  the  folds  of  her  coat.  It  was 
a  novel  sensation  and  one  he  had  never  dreamed  of 
having,  for  he  would  not  have  dared  touch  any 
woman  without  a  command. 

It  was  not  much  of  a  ride,  for  the  trails  were 
poor,  but  the  girl  seemed  to  enjoy  it,  and  to  McGill 
it  was  wonderful.  He  felt  that  he  was  making  an 

323 


McGILL 

awful  spectacle  of  himself,  however,  and  hoped 
no  one  had  seen  them  leave;  he  was  so  big  and  so 
ungainly  to  be  playing  squire,  and,  above  all,  he 
was  so  old. 

He  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  on  the  excur- 
sion, but  when  she  thanked  him  upon  their  return 
he  was  more  than  paid  for  his  misery.  As  they 
drove  up,  Barclay  was  watching  them  from  the 
high  bank,  and  Miss  Andrews  waved  a  mitten  at 
him.  Later,  when  McGill  had  left  for  a  moment, 
the  young  man  began,  sourly: 

"Making  a  play  for  the  old  party,  eh?" 

"He  isn't  old,"  said  Miss  Andrews,  carelessly. 

"What's  the  idea?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  have  any  idea.     Why?" 

"Humph!     I'm  interested — naturally." 

"You  needn't  be.  It's  every  one  for  himself  up 
here,  and  you  don't  seem  to  be  getting  ahead  very 
fast." 

"I  see.  McGill's  due  to  be  a  millionaire,  and 
I'm  down  and  out,"  Barclay  sneered.  "Well, 
we're  neither  of  us  children.  If  you  can  land  him, 
more  power  to  you." 

"I  wouldn't  stand  in  your  way,"  said  Miss 
Andrews,  coldly,  "and  I  don't  intend  that  you 
shall  stand  in  mine." 

"Is  that  the  only  way  you  look  at  it?"  Barclay 
wore  an  ugly  frown  that  seemed  genuine.  She 
met  it  with  a  mere  shrug,  causing  him  to  exclaim, 
hotly,  "If  you  don't  care  any  more  than  that,  I 
won't  interfere."  He  turned  and  walked  away. 

324 


McGILL 

Those  were  wonderful  days  for  McGill.  In- 
stead of  hurrying  back  to  his  work  he  loitered. 
With  a  splendid  disregard  of  convention  he  fol- 
lowed the  girl  about  hourly  and  was  too  drunk 
with  her  smiles  to  hear  the  comment  his  actions 
evoked.  He  had  moments  of  despair  when  he  saw 
himself  as  a  great,  awkward  bear,  more  aptly  de- 
signed to  frighten  than  to  woo  a  woman,  but  these 
periods  of  depression  gave  way  to  the  keenest  de- 
light at  some  word  of  encouragement  from  Alice 
Andrews.  He  did  not  fully  realize  that  he  had 
asked  her  to  marry  him  until  it  was  all  over,  but 
she  seemed  to  understand  so  fully  what  was  in  his 
heart  that  she  had  drawn  it  from  him  before  he 
really  knew  what  he  was  saying.  And  then  the 
joy  of  her  acceptance!  It  stunned  him.  When 
he  had  finally  torn  himself  away  from  her  side  he 
went  out  and  stood  bareheaded  under  the  northern 
lights  to  let  it  sink  in.  There  were  no  words  in  his 
vocabulary,  no  thoughts  in  his  mind,  capable  of 
expressing  the  marvel  of  it.  The  gorgeous  colors 
that  leaped  from  horizon  to  zenith  were  no  more 
glorious  than  the  riot  that  flamed  within  his  soul. 
She  loved  him,  Dan  McGill,  and  she  was  a  white 
woman!  When  he  thought  how  beautiful  and 
young  she  was  his  heart  overflowed  with  a  gentle 
tenderness  which  rivaled  that  of  any  mother. 

Still  in  a  dream,  he  related  the  miracle  to  the 
steamboat  captain,  who  took  the  announcement 
in  silence.  This  old  man  had  wintered  inside  the 
circle  and  knew  something  of  the  woman-hunger 

325 


McGILL 

that  comes  to  strong  men  in  solitude.  He  was 
observant,  moreover,  and  had  seen  good  girls 
made  bad  by  the  fires  of  the  frontier,  as  well  as 
bad  women  made  good  by  marriage. 

There  being  no  priest  nearer  than  Nulato,  it 
was,  perforce,  a  contract  marriage.  A  lawyer 
in  the  party  attended  to  the  papers,  and  it  pleased 
the  woman  to  have  Barclay  sign  as  a  witness. 
Then  she  and  McGill  set  out  for  Ophir,  a  trip  he 
never  forgot.  The  sled  was  laden  with  things 
to  make  a  bride  comfortable,  so  they  were  forced 
to  walk,  but  they  might  have  been  flying,  for  all  he 
knew.  Alice  was  very  ignorant  of  northern  ways, 
childishly  so,  and  it  afforded  him  the  keenest  de- 
light to  initiate  her  into  the  mysteries  of  trail  life. 
And  when  night  drew  near  and  they  made  camp, 
what  joy  it  was  to  hear  her  exclamations  of  wonder 
at  his  adeptness!  She  loved  to  see  his  ax  sink  to 
the  eye  in  the  frozen  fir  trunks  and  to  join  his  shout 
when  the  tree  fell  crashing  in  a  great  upheaval 
of  white.  Then  when  their  tiny  tent,  nestling  in 
some  sheltered  grove,  was  glowing  from  the 
candle-light,  and  the  red-hot  stove  had  routed 
the  cold,  he  would  make  her  lie  back  on  the 
fragrant  springy  couch  of  boughs  while  he  smoked 
and  did  the  dishes  and  told  her  shyly  of  the 
happiness  that  had  come  upon  him.  He  waited 
upon  her  hand  and  foot;  he  stood  between  her 
and  every  peril  of  the  wilds. 

And  while  it  was  all  delightfully  bewildering  to 
him,  it  was  likewise  very  strange  and  exciting  to 

326 


McGILL 

his  bride.  The  deathly  silence  of  the  bitter  nights, 
illumined  only  by  the  awesome  aurora  borealis; 
the  terrific  immensity  of  the  solitudes,  with  their 
white-burdened  forests  of  fir  that  ran  up  and  over 
the  mountains  and  away  to  the  ends  of  the  world ; 
the  wild  wolf-dogs  that  feared  nothing  except  the 
voice  of  their  master,  and  yet  fawned  upon  him 
with  a  passion  that  approached  ferocity  —  it  all 
played  upon  the  woman's  fancy  strangely.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  tempestuous  career  she  was 
nearly  happy.  It  was  worth  some  sacrifice  to 
possess  the  devotion  of  a  man  like  McGill;  it 
was  worth  even  more  to  know  that  her  years  of 
uncertainty  and  strife  were  over.  His  gentleness 
annoyed  her  at  times,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  she 
was  grateful  for  the  shyness  that  handicapped  him 
as  a  lover.  On  the  whole,  however,  it  was  a  good 
bargain,  and  she  was  fairly  well  content. 

As  for  McGill,  he  expanded,  he  effloresced,  if 
such  a  nature  as  his  could  be  said  to  bloom.  He 
explored  the  hindermost  recesses  of  his  being,  and 
brought  forth  his  secrets  for  her  to  share.  He  told 
her  all  about  himself,  without  the  slightest  reserva- 
tion, and  when  he  was  done  she  knew  him  clear  to 
his  last,  least  thought.  It  was  an  unwise  thing  to 
do,  but  McGill  was  not  a  wise  man,  and  the  stories 
seemed  to  please  her.  Above  all,  she  took  an  in- 
terest in  his  business  affairs,  which  was  gratifying. 
Time  and  again  she  questioned  him  shrewdly  about 
his  mining  properties,  which  made  him  think  that 
here  was  a  woman  who  would  prove  a  helpmate. 

327 


McGILL 

Their  arrival  at  Ophir  was  the  occasion  for  a 
rough,  spontaneous  welcome  that  further  turned 
her  head.  McGill  was  loved,  and,  once  his  towns- 
men had  recovered  from  their  amazement,  they  did 
their  best  to  show  his  wife  courtesies,  which  all 
went  to  strengthen  her  belief  in  his  importance 
and  to  add  to  her  complacence. 

McGill  was  ashamed  of  his  cabin  at  first,  but  she 
surprised  him  with  the  business-like  manner  in 
which  she  went  about  fixing  it  up.  Before  his 
admiring  eyes  she  transformed  it  by  a  few  deft 
touches  into  what  seemed  to  him  a  paradise. 
Heretofore  he  had  witnessed  women's  handiwork 
only  from  a  distance,  and  had  never  possessed  a 
real  home,  so  this  was  another  wonder  that  it 
took  time  to  appreciate.  Eventually  he  pulled 
himself  together  and  settled  down  to  his  affairs, 
but  in  the  midst  of  his  tasks  it  would  sometimes 
come  over  him  with  a  blinding  rush  that  he  was 
married,  that  he  had  a  wife  who  was  no  squaw, 
but  a  white  woman,  more  beautiful  than  any 
dream-creature,  and  so  young  that  he  might  have 
been  her  father.  The  amazing  strangeness  of  it 
never  left  him. 

But  the  adolescence  of  Ophir  was  short.  It 
quickly  outgrew  its  age  of  fictitious  values,  and  its 
rapturous  delusions  vanished  as  hole  after  hole 
was  put  to  bed-rock  and  betrayed  no  pay.  Entire 
valleys  that  were  formerly  considered  rich  were 
abandoned,  and  the  driving  snows  erased  the 
signs  of  human  effort.  Men  came  in  out  of  the 

328 


McGILL 

hills  cursing  the  luck  that  had  brought  them 
there.  The  gold-bearing  area  narrowed  to  a 
proved  creek  or  two  where  the  ground  was  taken 
and  where  there  were  ten  men  for  every  job; 
the  saloons  began  to  fill  with  idlers  who  talked 
much,  but  spent  nothing.  One  day  the  camp 
awakened  to  the  fact  that  it  was  a  failure.  There 
is  nothing  more  ghastly  than  a  broken  mining- 
town,  for  in  place  of  the  first  feverish  exhilaration 
there  is  naught  but  the  wreck  of  hopes  and  the 
ruin  of  ambitions. 

McGill's  wife  was  not  the  last  to  appreciate  the 
truth;  she  saw  it  coming  even  earlier  than  the 
rest.  Once  she  had  lost  the  first  glamour  and  fully 
attuned  herself  to  the  new  life  she  was  sufficiently 
perceptive  to  realize  her  great  mistake.  But 
McGill  did  not  notice  the  change  and  saw  nothing 
to  worry  about  in  the  town's  affairs.  He  had  been 
poor  most  of  his  life,  and  his  rare  periods  of 
opulence  had  ended  briefly,  therefore  this  failure 
meant  merely  another  trial.  Ophir  had  given 
him  his  prize,  greater  than  all  the  riches  of  its 
namesake,  and  who  could  be  other  than  happy  with 
a  wife  like  his?  His  very  optimism,  combined 
with  her  own  fierce  disappointment,  drove  the 
woman  nearly  frantic.  She  felt  abused,  she 
reasoned  that  McGill  had  betrayed  her,  and  at 
last  owned  to  the  hunger  she  had  been  striving 
vainly  to  stifle  for  months  past.  Now  that  there 
was  nothing  to  gain,  why  blind  herself  to  the 
truth?  She  hated  McGill,  and  she  loved  another! 
22  329 


McGILL 

There  had  never  been  an  instant  when  her  heart 
had  not  called. 

And  then,  to  make  matters  worse,  Barclay 
came.  He  had  spent  most  of  the  long  winter  at 
the  steamboat  landing,  being  too  angry  to  show 
himself  in  Ophir,  but  the  woman-hunger  had 
grown  upon  him,  as  upon  all  men  in  the  North, 
and  it  finally  drew  him  to  her  with  a  strength  that 
would  have  snapped  iron  chains.  Hearing,  shortly 
after  his  arrival,  that  McGill  was  out  on  the 
creeks  and  never  returned  until  dark,  he  went  to 
the  cabin.  Alice  opened  the  door  at  his  knock, 
then  fell  back  with  a  cry.  He  shut  out  the  cold 
air  behind  him  and  stood  looking  at  her  until  she 
gasped : 

"Why  have  you  come  here?" 

"Why?  Because  I  couldn't  stay  away.  You 
knew  I'd  have  to  come,  didn't  you?" 

"McGill!"  she  whispered,  and  cast  a  frightened 
look  over  her  shoulder. 

"Does  he  know?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  hear  he's  broke — like  the  rest."  Barclay 
laughed  mockingly,  and  she  nodded.  "Have  you 
had  enough?" 

"Yes,  yes!  Oh  yes!"  she  wailed,  suddenly. 
"Take  me  away,  Bob.  Oh,  take  me  away!" 

She  was  in  his  arms  with  the  words,  her  breast 
to  his,  her  arms  about  his  neck,  her  hot  tears 
starting.  She  clutched  him  wildly,  while  he  cov- 
ered her  face  with  kisses. 

330 


McGILL 

"Don't  scold  me,"  she  sobbed.  "Don't!  I'm 
sorry,  I'm  sorry.  You'll  take  me  away,  won't 
you?" 

"Hush!"  he  commanded.  "I  can't  take  you 
away;  there's  no  place  to  go  to.  That's  the  worst 
of  this  damned  country.  He'd  follow — and  he'd 
get  us." 

"You  must,  Bob!  You  must!  I'll  die  here 
with  him.  I've  stood  it  as  long  as  I  can — 

"Don't  be  a  fool.  You'll  have  to  go  through 
with  it  now  until  spring.  Once  the  river  is 
open— 

"No,  no,  no!"  she  cried,  passionately. 

"Do  you  want  us  to  get  killed?" 

Mrs.  McGill  shivered  as  if  some  wintry  blast 
had  searched  out  her  marrow,  then  freed  herself 
from  his  embrace  and  said,  slowly:  "You're 
right,  Bob.  We  must  be  very  careful.  I — I 
don't  know  what  he  might  do." 

That  evening  she  met  McGill  with  a  smile,  the 
first  she  had  worn  for  some  time,  and  she  was 
particularly  affectionate. 

Instead  of  returning  down-river,  Barclay  found 
lodgings  and  remained  in  Ophir.  He  was  not  the 
most  industrious  of  men,  and  before  long  became 
a  familiar  figure  around  the  few  public  places. 
McGill  met  him  frequently,  seeing  which  Barclay's 
fellow-passengers  from  below  raised  their  eye- 
brows and  muttered  meaningless  commonplaces; 
then,  when  the  younger  man  took  to  spending 
more  and  more  of  his  time  at  the  miner's  cabin, 


McGILL 

they  ceased  making  any  comment  whatever. 
These  are  things  that  wise  men  avoid,  and  a  loose 
tongue  often  leads  to  an  early  grave  when  fellows 
like  McGill  are  about.  Some  of  the  old-timers 
who  had  wintered  with  the  miner  in  the  "upper 
country"  shook  their  heads  and  acknowledged 
that  young  Barclay  was  a  braver  man  than  they 
gave  him  credit  for  being. 

Of  course  McGill  was  the  last  to  hear  of  it,  for 
he  was  of  the  simple  sort  who  have  faith  in  God 
and  women  and  such  things,  and  he  might  have 
gone  on  indefinitely  in  ignorance  but  for  Hopper, 
who  did  not  care  much  for  the  Barclay  person. 
The  saloon-man,  being  himself  uneducated  and 
rough,  like  McGill,  cherished  certain  illusions  re- 
garding virtue,  and  let  drop  a  hint  his  friend  could 
not  help  but  heed.  The  husband  paid  for  his 
drink,  then  went  back  to  the  rear  of  the  room, 
where  he  sat  for  an  hour  or  more.  When  he  went 
home  he  was  more  gentle  to  his  wife  than  ever. 
He  brooded  for  a  number  of  days,  trying  to  down 
his  suspicion,  but  the  poison  was  sown,  and  he 
finally  spoke  to  her. 

"Barclay  was  here  again  this  afternoon,  wasn't 
he?" 

She  turned  her  face  away  to  hide  its  pallor. 
"Yes.  He  dropped  in." 

"He  was  here  yesterday,  and  the  day  before, 
too,  wasn't  he?" 

"Well?" 

"He'd  ought  to  stay  away;  people  are  talking." 
332 


McGILL 

She  turned  on  him  defiantly.  "What  of  it? 
What  do  I  care?  I'm  lonesome.  I  want  com- 
pany. Mr.  Barclay  and  I  were  good  friends." 

"You're  my  wife  now." 

"Your  wife?  Ha!  ha!  Your  wife!"  She  laughed 
hysterically. 

"Yes.     Don't  you  love  me  any  more,  Alice?" 

She  said  nothing. 

"I've  noticed  a  change,  lately,  and — I  can't 
blame  you  none,  but  if  you  loved  me  just  a  little, 
if  I  had  even  that  much  to  start  on,  I  wouldn't 
mind.  I'd  take  you  away  somewhere  and  try  to 
make  you  love  me  more." 

"You'd  take  me  away,  would  you?"  the  woman 
cried,  gaining  confidence  from  his  lack  of  heat. 
"Away,  where  I'd  be  all  alone  with  you?  Don't 
you  see  I'm  dying  of  lonesomeness  now?  That's 
what's  the  matter.  I'm  half  mad  with  the 
monotony.  I  want  to  see  people,  and  live,  and  be 
amused.  I'm  young,  and  pretty,  and  men  like 
me.  You're  old,  McGill.  You're  old,  and  I'm 
young." 

Her  husband  withered  beneath  her  words;  his 
whole  big  frame  sagged  together  as  if  the  life  had 
ebbed  out  of  it ;  he  felt  weary  and  sick  and  burned 
out.  His  brain  held  but  one  thought — Alice 
did  not  love  him,  because  he  was  old. 

"Don't  go  on  this  way,"  he  said,  finally,  to 
check  her.  "I  suppose  it's  true,  but  I've  felt 
like  a  daddy  and  a  mother  to  you,  along  with  the 
other  feeling,  and  I  hoped  you  wouldn't  notice  it. 

333 


McGILL 

I  don't  reckon  any  young  man  could  care  for  you 
like  that.  You  see,  it's  all  the  loves  of  my  whole 
life  wrapped  up  together,  and  I  don't  see,  I  don't 
see  what  we  can  do  about  it.  We're  married!" 
It  was  characteristic  of  him  that  he  could  devise 
no  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  A  calamity  had 
befallen  them,  and  they  must  adjust  themselves 
to  it  as  best  they  could.  In  his  eyes  marriage 
was  a  holy  thing,  an  institution  of  God,  with  which 
no  human  hands  might  trifle. 

"No,"  he  continued,  "you're  my  wife,  and  so 
we've  got  to  get  along  the  best  way  we  can. 
I  know  you  couldn't  do  anything  wrong — you 
ain't  that  kind."  His  eyes  roved  over  the  homely 
little  nest  and  the  evidences  of  their  married  in- 
timacy. "No,  you  couldn't  do  that." 

"Then  you  won't  make  it  any  harder  for  me  than 
you  can  help?" 

"No."  He  rose  stiffly.  "You're  entitled  to  a 
fair  show  at  anything  you  want.  I  don't  like 
Barclay,  but  if  you  want  him  around,  I  won't 
object.  Try  to  be  as  happy  as  you  can,  Alice; 
maybe  it  '11  all  come  out  right.  Only — I  wish 
you'd  known  it  wasn't  love  before  you  married 
me."  He  put  on  his  cap  and  went  out  into  the 
cold. 

During  the  ensuing  week  or  two  he  devoted  him- 
self to  his  work,  spending  every  daylight  hour  on 
his  claim,  in  this  way  more  than  satisfying  Barclay 
and  the  woman,  who  felt  that  a  great  menace 
had  been  removed.  But  Hopper  determined  that 

334 


McGILL 

his  friend  should  know  all  and  not  part  of  the 
truth,  for  good  men  are  rare  and  weak  women  in 
the  way,  so  he  put  on  his  parka  and  walked  out 
to  the  place  where  McGill  was  working,  and 
there,  under  a  bleak  March  sky,  with  the  snow- 
flurries  wrapping  their  legs  about,  he  told  what  he 
had  learned.  Hopper  was  a  little  man,  but  he  had 
courage. 

"I've  heard  it  from  half  a  dozen  fellers,"  he 
concluded,  "and  they'd  ought  to  know,  because 
they  come  up  on  the  same  boat  with  them. 
Anyhow,  you  can  satisfy  yourself  easy  enough." 

McGill  moistened  his  lips  and,  thanking  his 
informant,  said,  "Now  you'd  better  hustle  back 
to  camp;  we're  due  for  a  storm." 

It  was  still  early  afternoon  when  he  walked 
swiftly  out  of  the  gulch  and  into  the  straggling 
little  town.  On  his  way  down  from  the  claim 
the  blizzard  had  broken,  or  so  it  seemed,  for  the 
narrow  valley  had  suddenly  become  filled  with  a 
whirling  smother  through  which  he  burst  like  a 
ship  through  a  fog.  When  he  emerged  upon  the 
flats  he  saw  that  it  was  no  more  than  a  squall  and 
the  wind  was  abating  again. 

His  moccasins  made  no  sound  as  he  came  up  to 
his  own  house,  and  the  first  inkling  of  his  presence 
that  the  two  inside  received  was  when  the  door 
opened  and  he  stood  before  them.  Something  in 
his  bearing  caused  his  wife  to  clutch  at  the  table 
for  support,  and  Barclay  to  retreat  with  his  back 
to  the  opposite  wall,  his  hand  inside  his  coat. 

335 


McGILL 

McGill  never  carried  a  weapon,  having  yet  to  feel 
the  need  of  one.  He  spoke  now  in  a  harsh,  cracked 
voice.  "Take  your  hand  off  that  gun,  Barclay." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  the  younger 
man  questioned. 

Mrs.  McGill's  eyes  were  wide  with  terror,  her 
frame  racked  by  apprehension,  when  her  husband 
turned  upon  her  and  asked: 

"Is  it  true?  Do  you  love — him?"  He  jerked 
his  head  in  Barclay's  direction.  "Answer  me!" 
he  rumbled,  savagely,  as  she  hesitated. 

Her  lips  moved,  and  she  nodded  without  remov- 
ing her  gaze  from  him. 

"How  long  have  you  loved  him?" 

When  she  still  could  not  master  herself,  he 
softened  his  voice:  "You  needn't  be  scared, 
Alice.  I  couldn't  hurt  you." 

"A  long — time,"  she  said,  finally. 

McGill  leveled  a  look  at  the  other  man. 

"That's  right,"  Barclay  agreed.  "You  might 
as  well  know." 

' '  They  tell  me  that  you  and  her  had—' '  McGill 
ground  his  teeth,  and  his  little  eyes  blazed — "that 
she  didn't  have  no  right  to  marry  without — tell- 
ing me  something  about  you." 

The  former  answered  through  white  lips: 
"Well?  Everybody  knew  it  except  you,  and  you 
could  have  found  out.  I'd  have  married  her  some- 
time, myself,  if  you  hadn't  come  along." 

McGill's  fingers  opened  slowly,  at  which  the 
woman  burst  forth : 

33$ 


'"""Pake  your  hand  off  that  gun, 
i,    Barclay." 


McGILL 

"No,  no!  Don't — do  that.  You  can't  blame 
him,  Dan.  I  did  it.  Don't  you  understand? 
I'm  the  one.  I  loved  him  in  'Frisco,  long  before 
I  saw  you,  and  I've  loved  him  ever  since.  Take 
it  out  on  me,  if  you  want  to,  but  don't  hurt  him." 

"I  don't  reckon  I'd  have  minded  it  much  if, 
I'd  known  the  truth  at  the  start,"  said  McGill. 
"Most  women  have  made  mistakes  at  one  time  or 
another,  at  least  most  of  those  I've  known  have. 
No,  it  ain't  that,  but  you  married  me  knowing 
that  you  loved  him  all  the  time." 

"I  tried  to  quit,"  cried  the  wife.  "I  tried  to, 
but  I  couldn't." 

"And  what's  the  rottenest  of  all "— McGill's 
voice  was  ugly  again — "you  made  him  best  man 
at  the  wedding,  or  just  the  same.     He  stood  up 
*with  us.     Didn't  you,  Barclay?" 

The  wife  flung  herself  into  the  breach  once  more 
with  a  self-sacrifice  that  wrenched  her  husband's 
heart.  "He  didn't  want  to,  but  I  made  him. 
I  thought  you  had  money,  and  I  was  mad  at  him 
for  letting  me  go,  so  I  tried  to  hurt  him.  I 
wanted  him  to  marry  me,  but  he  wouldn't,  and 
I  took  you.  When  it  was  over  and  I  saw  the  kind 
of  man  you  are  I  tried  to  love  you — honestly  I  did, 
but  I  couldn't.  You're  so —  I — I  couldn't  do  it, 
that's  all."  She  broke  into  a  torrent  of  tears, 
holding  herself  on  her  feet  by  an  effort.  Her 
wretched  sobbing  was  the  only  sound  in  the 
cabin  for  a  time,  then  Barclay  inquired: 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 
337 


McGILL 

McGill  turned  to  his  wife,  ignoring  Barclay. 
"I  guess  I  understand  things  pretty  well  now, 
and  I'm  beginning  to  see  your  side.  Of  course  I 
never  aimed  to  hurt  you,  Alice — I  couldn't;  but 
I  aimed  to  kill  this  man,  and  I  will  if  he  stays 
here."  Over  his  shoulder  he  flung  out,  quickly: 
"Oh,  the  gun  won't  help  you  none.  You've  got 
to  go,  Barclay." 

"I'll  go  with  him,"  cried  Mrs.  McGill,  desper- 
ately. "If  he  goes,  I'll  go,  too." 

"That's  exactly  what  you've  got  to  do.  You 
can't  stay  here  now,  neither  of  you.  If  he  ain't 
able  to  take  care  of  you,  why,  I  will  as  long  as  I 
live,  but  you've  both  got  to  go." 

"It's  the  best  course  under  the  circumstances," 
Barclay  agreed,  with  relief.  "We'll  take  the 
first  boat — ' 

"You'll  go  to-day,  now,"  said  the  husband, 
grimly,  "before  I  have  time  to  think  it  over." 

"But  where?" 

1 '  To  hell !     That's  where  you're  headed. ' ' 

"We  can't  go  afoot,"  the  woman  cried  in  a 
panic. 

' '  I've  got  dogs !  And  don't  argue  or  I'll  weaken. 
I'm  letting  him  go  because  you  seem  to  need  him, 
Alice.  Only  remember  one  thing,  both  of  you — 
there  ain't  no  town  big  enough  to  hold  all  three  of 
us.  Now  go,  quick,  before  I  change  my  mind, 
for  if  the  sun  ever  goes  down  on  Barclay  and  me 
together,  so  help  me  God!  it  won't  rise  on  both 
of  us.  There  ain't  no  place  in  the  world  that's 

338 


McGILL 

big  enough  for  him  and  me,  no  place  in  the 
world." 

McGill  stood  on  the  river-bank  and  watched 
them  vanish  into  the  ghostly  curtain  that  sifted 
slowly  down  from  the  heavens,  and  when  they 
were  finally  lost  to  view  he  turned  back  to  his 
empty  cabin.  Before  entering  he  paused  as 
usual  to  note  the  weather — it  was  a  habit.  He 
saw  that  the  sky  was  strangely  leaden  and  low, 
and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  "quick"  was 
falling  rapidly,  the  air  was  lifeless  and  close. 
If  McGill  was  any  judge,  that  squall  had  been 
but  a  warning,  and  foretold  more  to  follow.  He 
sighed  miserably  at  the  thought  of  the  night  his 
wife  would  have  to  face. 

He  cooked  his  supper  mechanically,  then  sat 
for  hours  staring  at  it.  The  wind  rattling  at  his 
door  finally  roused  him  to  the  knowledge  that  his 
fire  was  out  and  the  room  chilly.  Being  unable 
longer  to  bear  the  silence  and  the  mute  evidences 
of  her  occupation  that  looked  at  him  from  every 
side,  he  slipped  into  his  parka  and  went  down  to 
Hopper's  place,  where  there  were  life  and  human 
voices  at  least. 

The  night  was  yelling  with  a  million  voices 
when  he  stepped  out.  The  bitter  wind  snapped 
his  fur  garment  as  if  to  rend  it  to  ribbons,  the 
whirling  particles  of  snow  rasped  his  face  like  the 
dry  grains  from  a  sand-blast.  Boreas  had  loosed 
his  demons,  and  they  were  lashing  the  night  into 
chaos.  McGill  felt  a  sudden  tender  concern  for 

339 


McGILL 

the  woman,  a  concern  so  great  as  almost  to  destroy 
his  bitterness,  but  he  reflected  that  he  had  seen 
to  loading  the  sled  himself,  and  among  the  other 
paraphernalia  had  included  a  tent  and  a  stove. 
Unless  Barclay  was  a  fool,  therefore,  Alice  was 
perfectly  safe.  There  was  wood  aplenty,  and  the 
spruce  forests  offered  shelter  from  the  gale.  The 
thought  awakened  a  memory  of  those  night  camps 
he  had  made  on  that  dreamlike  wedding- journey 
and  brought  forth  a  groan.  How  old  and  spirit- 
less he  had  become;  he  could  scarcely  stand  against 
the  wind! 

Of  course  the  story  had  gone  broadcast,  hours 
before,  for  other  eyes  than  his  had  watched  the 
man  and  woman  take  the  outbound  trail  that 
afternoon,  so  when  he  came  stumbling  into 
Hopper's  place  a  sudden  silence  fell.  He  went 
directly  to  the  bar  and  called  for  straight  "hootch," 
to  drive  the  cold  from  his  bones,  but,  although 
it  warmed  his  flesh,  his  soul  remained  numb  and 
frozen.  Inside  him  was  a  great  aching  emptiness 
that  even  Hopper's  kindly  words  could  not  reach. 

"Looks  like  the  worst  night  we've  had  this 
year,"  said  the  proprietor.  "Better  have  a  drink 
with  me." 

McGill's  teeth  rattled  on  the  glass  when  he  put 
it  to  his  lips.  "She's  gone!"  he  whispered,  star- 
ing across  the  bar,  "and  I  didn't  kill  him.  I 
couldn't — on  her  account." 

Hopper  nodded.  "I'm  awful  sorry  it  came  out 
this  way,  Dan." 

340 


McGILL 

McGill  shivered  and  drew  his  head  down  be- 
tween his  gaunt  shoulders.  "Talk  to  me,  will 
you?"  he  begged.  "I'm  hit  hard." 

His  friend  did  as  he  was  directed,  but  a  few 
minutes  later  in  the  midst  of  his  words  the  big 
man  interrupted: 

"There  wasn't  room  for  all  of  us  here,"  he  de- 
clared, fiercely.  "I  told  her  that,  but  she  wanted 
him  worse  than  her  own  life,  so  I  had  to  give  in." 

They  were  still  talking  at  midnight,  after  all 
but  a  few  loiterers  had  gone  home,  when  they 
heard  a  man's  voice  calling  from  outside.  An 
instant  later  the  front  door  burst  open  and  a 
figure  appeared;  it  was  Cochrane,  the  trader 
from  down-river. 

' '  Here !  Give  me  a  hand !"  he  bellowed  through 
his  ice-burdened  beard,  then  plunged  back  into 
the  hurricane  to  reappear  with  a  woman  in  his 
arms. 

"I  thought  I'd  never  make  it,"  he  declared. 
"There's  a  man  in  the  sled,  too.  Get  some 
'hootch'  and  send  for  a  doctor,  quick." 

McGill  uttered  a  cry,  while  the  hand  with 
which  he  gripped  the  bar  went  white  at  his  pres- 
sure. "Where  did  you  get  them?"  he  questioned. 

"Ten  miles  below,"  said  Cochrane.  "I  was 
camped  for  the  night  when  their  dogs  picked  up 
my  scent.  They  were  half  dead  when  they  got 
to  me,  and  he  was  in  mighty  bad  shape,  so  I  came 
through.  I've  been  five  hours  on  the  road." 

Two  men  brought  in  Barclay,  at  which  McGill 


McGILL 

flung  out  a  long  arm  and  cried  in  a  loud  voice, 
"Is  that  man  dead?" 

No  one  answered,  so  he  strode  forward,  only  to 
have  the  weakened  traveler  raise  his  head  and  say : 

"No,  I'm  not  dead,  McGill.  But  we  had  to 
come  back." 

The  wife  was  calling  to  her  husband,  wretchedly : 
"Don't  do  it,  Dan.  We  couldn't  help  it.  We'll 
go  to-morrow.  We'll  go.  Please  don't!  We'll  go." 

The  onlookers,  knowing  something  of  the 
tragedy,  drew  back,  watching  McGill,  who  still 
stared  into  the  face  of  the  man  who  had  robbed 
him  of  everything. 

"Do  you  remember  what  I  told  you?"  he  ques- 
tioned, inflexibly. 

Barclay  nodded,  and  the  woman  shrilled  again: 

"Don't  let  him  do  it,  men.     Don't!  " 

"There  ain't  room  for  us  here,"  went  on  McGill. 

"Only  to-night,"  supplicated  his  wife,  the  frost- 
bitten spots  in  her  cheeks  no  more  pallid  than  the 
rest  of  her  countenance.  "He  can't  go.  Don't 
you  see  he  isn't  able?  Wait,  Dan;  I'll  go  if  you 
want  me  to" — she  struggled  forward.  "I'll  go, 
but  he'll  die  if  you  send  him  out." 

"It's  always  him,  ain't  it?"  said  the  miner, 
slowly.  "You  seem  to  want  him  pretty  bad, 
Alice.  Well,  you  can  have  him.  And  you  can 
stay,  both  of  you."  He  drew  his  cap  down  over 
his  grizzled  hair  and  turned  toward  the  door,  but 
Hopper  saw  the  light  in  his  eye  and  intercepted 
him. 

342 


McGILL 

"I'll  go  home  with  you,  Dan,"  said  he. 

"I  ain't  going  home." 

"  You  mean— 

"There  ain't  room  enough  in  Ophir  for  Barclay 
and  me  and  the  woman." 

"My  God,  man,  listen  to  that  blizzard!  It's 
suicide!" 

But  McGill  only  repeated,  dully:  "There  ain't 
room,  Hopper.  There  ain't  room!"  and  with  the 
gait  of  an  old  man  shambled  to  the  door.  When 
he  opened  it  the  storm  shrieked  in  glee  and  rushed 
in,  wrapping  him  up  to  the  middle  in  its  embrace. 
He  closed  the  door  behind  him,  then  went  stum- 
bling off  into  the  night,  and  as  he  crept  blindly 
forth  upon  the  frozen  bosom  of  the  river  the 
bellowing  wind  wiped  out  his  footprints  an  arm's- 
length  at  his  back. 


THE    BRAND 


THE    BRAND 


THE  valley  was  very  still.  No  breath  of  wind 
had  stirred  it  for  many  days.  It  was 
smothered  so  heavily  in  snow  that  the  firs  were 
bent ;  even  the  bare  birch  limbs  carried  precarious 
burdens,  and  when  gravity  relieved  some  sagging 
branch  the  mass  beneath  welcomed  the  avalanche 
so  softly  that  the  only  sound  was  a  whisper  as  the 
bough  returned  to  its  position.  The  brooding 
cold  had  cleared  the  air  of  sound  as  it  had  of 
moisture.  No  birds  piped,  there  was  no  murmur 
of  running  water,  no  evidence  of  animal  life  except 
an  occasional  wavering  line  etched  into  the  white 
by  the  feet  of  some  tiny  rodent. 

The  rolling  hills  were  sparsely  timbered,  against 
an  empty  north  sky  a  jumble  of  saw-toothed 
peaks  were  limned  like  carvings,  and  everywhere 
was  the  same  unending  hush  of  winter.  The 
desolation  was  complete. 

Yet  there  was  life  here,  for  spaced  at  regular 
intervals  across  the  gulch  were  mounds  of  white, 
each  forming  the  lips  of  a  rectangular  cavity  re- 

347 


THE    BRAND 

sembling  an  open  grave.  They  were  perfectly 
aligned  and  separated  from  each  other  by  pre- 
cisely thirty  paces;  surrounding  each  was  a 
clearing  out  of  which  freshly  cut  stumps  pro- 
truded bearing  snow  caps  fashioned  like  the  cha- 
peau  of  a  drum-major.  There  were  six  of  these 
holes,  and  a  seventh  was  in  process  of  digging. 
Over  the  last  one  a  crude  windlass  straddled  and 
the  heap  of  debris  at  its  feet  showed  raw  and 
dirty  against  the  snow.  Out  of  the  aperture  a 
thin  vapor  rose  lazily,  coating  the  drum  and  rope 
with  rime ;  from  the  clearing  a  narrow  trail  wound 
to  a  cabin  beside  the  creek-bank. 

McGill  came  out  into  the  morning  and  with  him 
came  his  three  giant  malamutes,  wolf  -gray,  shaggy, 
and  silent  like  their  master.  He  eyed  the  droop- 
ing, white-robed  forest  and  the  desolate  ridges 
that  shut  him  in,  then,  said,  in  a  voice  harsh  from 
disuse : 

"Hello,  people!    Anything  happened  yet?" 

He  made  it  a  practice  to  speak  aloud  whenever 
he  thought  of  it,  for  the  hush  of  an  arctic  winter 
plays  pranks  with  a  person's  mind,  and  there  is  a 
certain  effect  of  sanity  in  spoken  words,  senseless 
though  they  be. 

After  a  moment  he  repeated  his  greeting: 
"Good  morning,  I  said.  Can't  you  answer?" 
Then  his  cheeks  flamed  above  his  heavy  beard 
and  he  yelled,  loudly,  ''Good  morning,  you  -  — ! 
Can't  you  say  anything?"  He  glared  reproach- 
fully at  a  giant  spruce  from  the  lower  limbs  of 

348 


THE    BRAND 

which  depended  the  quarters  of  several  caribou. 
"Tom,  you  ain't  gone  back  on  me?  Say  hello. 
You  and  me  are  friends.  Speak  up!"  After  a 
time  he  shook  his  head,  murmuring:  "It's  no  use. 
I've  got  to  make  all  the  noise  there  is.  If  it 
would  only  blow — or  something.  I'd  like  to  hear 
the  wind." 

He  strode  toward  the  prospect  hole,  the  dogs 
following  sedately,  their  feet  making  no  sound  in 
the  snow.  They,  too,  felt  the  weight  of  isolation 
and  never  left  his  side.  Arriving  at  the  dump, 
McGill  stood  motionless  beside  the  windlass  for  a 
long  time,  staring  into  nothingness  with  eyes  that 
were  strained  and  miserable.  When  the  cold  bit 
him  he  roused  himself  and  addressed  the  steam- 
filled  opening  dispiritedly: 

"So,  you  didn't  freeze  up  on  me.  That's  good. 
I'll  get  bed-rock  to-day  and  show  you  up  for  a 
dirty  cheat.  Pay!  Bah!  there  ain't  none!" 

He  descended  a  ladder  at  one  end  of  the  shaft, 
gathered  the  charred  logs,  tied  them  into  a  bundle 
with  the  end  of  the  windlass  rope,  then,  mounting 
the  ladder,  hoisted  them  to  the  surface.  Next, 
hooking  on  the  ungainly  wooden  bucket,  he 
lowered  it,  after  which  he  descended  for  a  second 
time. 

There  began  a  long  and  monotonous  series  of 
ascents  and  descents,  for  every  bucket  of  gravel 
meant  two  journeys  the  full  depth  of  the  pit. 
It  was  a  tedious  and  primitive  process,  involving  a 
tremendous  waste  of  effort,  but  he  was  methodical, 

349 


THE    BRAND 

and  each  time  the  tub  rose  it  carried  a  burden 
sufficient  to  tax  the  strength  of  two  men.  He 
handled  it  easily,  however,  and  by  midday  had 
removed  the  thawed  ground  and  scraped  a  sample 
from  close  to  frost.  He  laid  a  light  fire,  then  took 
the  heaping  gold-pan  under  his  arm  and  set  off 
for  his  cabin,  accompanied  by  the  malamutes. 

When  he  had  prepared  and  eaten  his  lunch  he 
seated  himself  before  his  panning-tub,  a  square 
box  half  filled  with  water  melted  from  the  creek 
ice,  and  began  the  process  of  testing  his  prospect. 

Having  worked  down  the  gravel  and  sediment  to 
a  half-handful,  he  spread  it  with  a  movement  of 
his  wrists,  leaving  stranded  at  the  tail  of  the  black 
sand  a  few  specks  of  yellow.  These  he  eyed  for  a 
moment  before  washing  them  away. 

"Too  light — as  usual,"  he  said,  aloud.  The 
dogs  stirred  and  raised  their  heads.  "Always 
pretty  near,  but  not  quite.  But  it's  here,  some- 
where, and  I'll  get  it  if  I  can  last  out  this  damned 
silence.  That  rim-rock  didn't  lie.  And  old  Pitka 
didn't  lie,  either.  Nobody  lies  except — women." 
He  scowled  at  some  remembrance,  his  whole  face 
retreated  behind  a  bristling  mask  of  ferocity. 
He  sat  motionless  over  the  tub  of  muddy  water 
until  the  fire  died  out  of  the  stove  and  the  chill 
warned  him  that  it  was  time  to  resume  work. 

For  many  weeks — how  many  McGill  neither 
knew  nor  cared — he  had  pursued  the  routine  of 
his  search.  He  had  penetrated  this  valley  alone, 
unseen,  in  the  late  autumn,  and  every  day  since 


THE    BRAND 

then  he  had  labored  steadily,  mechanically,  almost 
without  physical  sensation,  for  all  feeling  was 
centered  in  his  memory,  which  never  gave  him 
time  to  consider  his  surroundings.  Spring  was 
coming  now — the  sun  was  already  peeping  over  the 
southern  hills  in  the  middle  of  its  daily  journey — 
and  during  this  time  there  had  been  but  two  in- 
terruptions which  had  roused  him  from  his  apathy. 
One  had  occurred  when,  in  quest  of  fresh  meat,  he 
had  discovered  that  he  had  neighbors  ten  miles  to 
the  west.  He  had  seen  their  camp  from  the 
divide,  then  had  turned  and  slunk  away,  cursing 
them  for  intruding  upon  his  privacy.  The  other 
was  when  a  herd  of  caribou  had  crossed.  At  that 
time  he  had  given  brief  rein  to  his  desire  to  kill, 
seeing  ahead  of  his  sights  the  face  of  the  man  who 
had  sent  him  into  the  wilderness.  He  could  have 
bagged  half  the  herd,  but  checked  himself  in  time, 
realizing  that  it  was  not  Barclay  at  whom  he 
leveled  his  rifle,  but  defenseless  animals,  the  car- 
casses of  which  were  useless. 

Barclay!  The  name  maddened  McGill.  He 
wondered  dully  why  he  continued  to  work  so 
steadily  when  Barclay  had  robbed  him  of  the 
need  for  gold.  The  answer  to  this,  he  supposed, 
was  easier  than  the  answer  to  those  other  ques- 
tions that  forever  troubled  him — he  had  to  do 
something  or  die  of  his  thoughts,  and  he  knew 
no  other  work  than  this.  Even  in  his  busiest 
hours  memories  of  Barclay  and  the  woman  ob- 
truded themselves. 


THE    BRAND 

It  was  after  dark  when  he  had  fired  the  hole  a 
second  time  and  returned  to  his  cabin.  He  had 
not  reached  bed-rock  and  this  fact  irritated  him — 
he  was  growing  very  irritable,  it  seemed.  Lighting 
his  pipe  of  rank  ' '  sheep-dip  "  tobacco  when  the  sup- 
per-dishes were  finally  cleaned  and  the  dogs  fed, 
he  once  more  prepared  for  the  profitless  process  of 
panning.  But  he  noticed  that  this  sample  of 
gravel  was  different  to  any  he  had  yet  found, 
being  of  a  peculiar  ashen  color.  He  felt  it  with 
practised  fingers  and  discovered  it  to  be  gritty 
and  full  of  sediment. 

"Feels  good,"  he  said,  aloud,  "but  I'll  bet  it's 
barren." 

He  had  panned  so  many  samples  that  all 
eagerness,  all  curiosity  as  to  the  outcome,  had  long 
since  disappeared,  therefore  his  movements  were 
purely  perfunctory  as  he  dissolved  the  clay  lumps 
and  washed  the  gravels  down.  He  paused  half- 
way through  the  operation  to  dry  his  hands  and 
relight  his  pipe,  then  fell  to  thinking  of  Barclay 
and  the  woman  once  more,  and  remained  so  for 
a  long  time.  When  he  resumed  his  task  it  was 
with  glazed,  unseeing  eyes.  He  was  about  to 
dump  the  last  dregs  carelessly  when  something 
just  slipping  over  the  edge  of  the  pan  caught  his 
eye  and  caused  him  to  tilt  the  receptacle  abruptly. 

The  breath  whistling  in  his  throat  roused  the 
dogs.  McGill  closed  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  then 
reached  unsteadily  for  the  candle.  A  movement 
of  his  wrist  ran  the  water  across  the  pan  bottom 

352 


THE    BRAND 

and  spread  the  black  sand  thinly.  Instantly  there 
leaped  out  against  the  black  metal  a  heap  of 
bright,  clean,  yellow  particles  which  lay  as  if 
glued  together. 

"Coarse  gold!  Coarse  gold!"  he  whispered, 
then  cursed  in  the  weak,  meaningless  manner  of 
men  under  great  excitement.  Not  trusting  him- 
self to  hold  the  pan,  he  set  it  upon  the  table,  but 
without  removing  his  eyes  from  it.  When  his 
nerves  had  steadied  he  ran  the  prospect  down,  all 
the  time  muttering  in  his  beard.  He  dried  it  over 
the  fire,  blew  the  iron  sand  free  with  his  breath, 
then  pushed  the  particles  into  a  heap,  striving  to 
estimate  their  value. 

"There's  half  an  ounce,"  he  said,  finally. 
"Eight  dollars  a  pan!  God!  that's  big!  Big! 
It's  another  Klondike."  He  rose  and  ran  bare- 
headed out  into  the  night,  followed  by  the  dogs, 
then  stood  staring  at  the  smoke  as  it  ascended 
vertically  above  his  shaft,  like  a  giant  night- 
growing  plant  of  some  kind.  He  was  tempted 
to  descend  the  ladder  and  tear  the  crackling  logs 
apart,  but  thought  better  of  it.  Swinging  his 
eyes  along  the  valley  rim  that  stood  out  black 
against  the  aurora,  he  lifted  his  long  arms.  "It's 
mine,  all  mine!  Understand?"  He  cried  the 
words  loudly,  wildly,  as  if  challenging  the  silence. 
"It's  no  good  to  me,  but  it's  mine,  and,  by  God, 
I'll  keep  it!" 

McGill  reached  bed-rock  the  next  evening  and 
spent  most  of  the  night  panning  the  pile  of 

353 


THE    BRAND 

scrapings  he  had  collected  from  the  bottom  of  the 
pit.  If  the  top  of  the  streak  had  been  rich,  the 
lower  concentration  was  amazing.  Every  seam 
in  the  shattered  limestone,  which  stood  on  end 
like  sluice  riffles,  contained  little  flattened  pump- 
kin-seeds of  gold;  they  lay  embedded  in  the  clay 
stringers  like  plums  in  a  pudding  or  as  if  some 
lavish  hand  had  inserted  them  there,  as  coins 
are  slipped  into  the  slot  of  a  child's  savings-bank. 
He  could  see  them  before  the  dirt  was  half  washed, 
but  took  a  supreme  pleasure,  nevertheless,  in 
watching  the  yellow  pile  grow  as  the  sediment 
disappeared.  A  baking-powder  can  was  half 
filled  when  he  had  finished;  it  told  him  unmis- 
takably the  magnitude  of  his  riches.  He  was  a 
wealthy  man,  wealthier  than  he  had  ever  dreamed 
of  being  there  was  more  where  this  came  from 
and  the  gulch  lay  unappropriated  from  end  to  end. 
Fortune  had  come  in  a  day,  and  he  would  never 
want  so  long  as  he  lived.  His  thoughts  were  wild 
and  chaotic,  for  he  was  half  mad  from  the  silence. 
But  what  use  to  make  of  his  discovery  he  hardly 
knew,  since  he  had  slunk  away  from  the  world, 
ablaze  with  hatred  for  his  fellow-men,  intending 
to  live  alone  for  the  rest  of  his  days.  His  grudge 
was  as  bitter  now  as  then,  and  he  determined, 
therefore,  to  keep  his  find  a  secret.  That  would 
be  a  grim,  if  unsatisfactory,  sort  of  revenge,  he 
reflected.  He  would  take  what  he  wished,  and 
let  other  men  wear  out  their  lives  searching  un- 
successfully. Those  strangers  to  the  westward, 

354 


THE    BRAND 

for  instance,  would  toil  and  suffer  through  the  long 
winter,  then  leave  discouraged.  There  was  money 
here  for  them  and  for  hundreds — thousands — like 
them,  but  he  decided  to  guard  his  secret  and  to 
let  it  die  with  him. 

McGill  pictured  the  result  of  this  news  if  he 
gave  it  out;  the  stampede,  the  headlong  rush 
that  would  bring  men  from  every  corner  of  the 
North.  He  saw  this  silent  valley  bared  of  its 
brooding  forest  and  filled  with  people;  he  saw 
a  log  city  in  the  flats  down  by  the  river;  he  heard 
the  bass  blasts  of  steamboats,  the  shrilling  of  saw- 
mills, the  sound  of  music  from  dance-halls,  the 
click  of  checks  and  roulette-balls,  the  noise  of 
revelry — 

"No!  No!  No!"  He  rose  and  shouted  into  the 
empty  silence  of  his  cabin.  "I  won't  do  it!  I 
won't!  I  won't!" 

But  the  voices  called  to  him  all  through  the 
night. 

He  rose  early,  for  they  would  not  let  him  rest, 
and  during  the  darkness  a  terrible  hunger  had 
grown  upon  him.  It  was  the  hunger  for  compan- 
ionship, for  speech.  His  secret  was  too  great  for 
imprisonment,  it  threatened  to  burst  the  con- 
fines of  the  valley  by  its  own  tremendous  force; 
he  knew  he  could  never  sleep  with  it,  for  it  would 
smother  him;  vampire-like,  it  would  suck  the 
life  from  his  veins  and  the  reason  from  his  brain. 

When  he  had  eaten  he  pocketed  the  baking- 
powder  tin,  slipped  into  his  snow-shoes  and, 

355 


THE    BRAND 

f 

crossing  the  gulch,   climbed  the  westward  hills 
that  hid  his  neighbors.     The  dogs  went  with  him. 


ii 


NEWS  of  the  John  Daniels  strike  reached  Ophir 
in  July,  when  a  ragged,  unkempt  man  arrived  in  a 
poling-boat.  He  was  one  of  the  party  that  had 
camped  west  of  McGill,  and  he  ate  a  raw  potato 
with  the  ravenous  appetite  of  an  animal  while 
waiting  for  his  first  meal  at  the  Miner's  Rest. 
Between  mouthfuls  he  gave  the  word  that  set  the 
town  ablaze. 

When  he  had  bought  a  ton  of  grub  at  the  A.  C. 
store  and  weighed  out  payment  in  bright  pumpkin- 
seed  gold  he  went  to  Hopper's  saloon  and  handed 
the  proprietor  a  folded  paper. 

Hopper  read  it  uncomprehendingly. 

"This  is  a  location  notice,  recorded  in  my 
name,"  the  latter  said,  turning  the  document  un- 
comprehendingly as  if  to  see  if  it  contained  a 
message  on  the  reverse  side. 

The  stranger  nodded.  "Number  Four  Above, 
on  John  Daniels  Creek.  John  staked  for  you,  and 
told  me  to  tell  you  to  come.  We've  struck  it  rich." 

Hopper's  hand  shook;  he  stared  at  the  speaker 
in  bewilderment.  "John  Daniels?  I  don't  seem 
to  remember  him." 

"He's  a  big  slab-sided  man  with  a  deep  voice 
and  eyes  like  ice." 

356 


THE    BRAND 

The  listener  started.     "Is  he — skookum?" 

"Stronger  'n  any  two  men — ' 

"God!    It's— McGill!" 

"I  thought  so,  but  I  never  saw  him  only  once — 
that  was  in  Circle.  He's  changed  now — got  a 
beard.  He  said  you  done  him  a  favor  once. 
You're  his  friend,  ain't  you?" 

"I  am." 

"What's  the  trouble  with  him?"  There  was  a 
pause.  "You  can  tell  me.  He  put  me  and  my 
five  pardners  in  on  his  strike.  I'm  taking  grub 
to  him  and  the  others." 

"Oh,  it  was  about  a  woman,  of  course.  It 
always  is.  Everybody  here  knows  the  story. 
She  was  no  good,  except  to  look  at.  Feller  named 
Barclay  brought  her  into  the  country,  but  Dan 
didn't  know  it,  so  he  up  and  marries  her.  She 
thought  he  had  money,  and  when  she  found  he  was 
broke  like  the  rest  of  us  she  and  Barclay  began 
cuttin'  up  again.  It  was  rotten.  I  came  near 
putting  Barclay  away,  but  figgered  Dan  wouldn't 
like  nobody  to  do  his  work,  so  I  told  him.  He 
went  out  to  clean  the  slate,  but  found  his  wife 
was  crazy  about  the  skunk  and  always  had  been, 
so  he  sent  'em  away  together.  He  done  it  for  her 
sake,  but  he  warned  'em  to  stay  off  his  trail, 
because  no  camp  was  big  enough  to  hold  all  three 
of  'em.  It  was  blizzardy,  and  what  did  the 
blame'  fools  do  but  get  caught  ten  miles  below 
here.  Cochrane  brought  'em  back  that  night  on 
his  sled.  McGill  was  here,  right  where  you're 

357 


THE    BRAND 

standing,  when  they  were  lugged  in.  When  he 
seen  Barclay  he  went  after  him  again,  figgerin', 
I  suppose,  that  God  was  disgusted  with  his  propo- 
sition and  had  sent  the  feller  back  to  be  finished." 

"Good!"  said  the  stranger.  "And  he  got  him, 
eh?" 

"No!  Barclay  wasn't  more  'n  half  dead,  and 
the  woman  fell  to  beggin'  for  his  life  again.  She 
appealed  to  all  of  us.  McGill  must  have  loved 
her  more  'n  we  give  him  credit  for,  because  when 
he  saw  that  neither  one  of  'em  was  able  to  leave, 
he  left  instead.  He  walked  right  out  of  that  door 
into  the  wickedest  storm  we  had  that  season,  and 
we  never  seen  him  again.  Everybody  thought  he 
froze  or  the  wolves  got  him.  That  was  a  year  ago 
last  winter." 

"What  become  of  the  woman?" 

"Oh,  her  and  Barclay  left  for  Dawson  on  the 
first  boat.  I  guess  they  saw  we  didn't  enjoy  'em 
here." 

"And  Barclay?  Didn't  nobody  offer  to  bump 
him  off?"  The  ragged  stranger  was  incredulous. 

"No,  we  just  left  him  and  the  woman  alone. 
Most  of  us  was  kind  of  sorry  for  her." 

"Sorry?    Why?" 

"Well— "  Hopper  hesitated.  "I  don't  think 
she  exactly  understood  what  she  was  doin'.  You 
know  the  first  winter  up  here  is  hard  on  tender- 
feet,  especially  women.  Most  of  'em  act  mighty 
queer  before  they  ca'm  down.  She'd  have  come 
to  herself  if  McGill  had  given  her  time." 

358 


Barclay  wasn't  more  'n  half  dead,  and  the  woman  fell 


to  beggin'  for  his  life  again." 


THE    BRAND 

"Hm-m!  It's  too  late  now."  Both  men  nod- 
ded. "When  '11  you  leave  for  John  Daniels 
Creek?" 

"When?  Now!  I've  got  enough  of  this  camp, 
and  I'll  have  these  bar-fixtures  packed  in  two 
hours." 

McGill — or  John  Daniels,  as  he  chose  to  call 
himself — saw  his  dream  come  true.  The  first 
stampeders  came  in  August;  gaunt  fellows  worn 
by  sleepless  days  and  nights  during  which  they 
had  fought  the  swift  waters  and  the  fear  of  pur- 
suit. They  were  followed  by  a  tiny  river  boat, 
then  an  A.  C.  packet,  loaded  heavy  and  carrying 
Hopper  with  his  bar-fixtures  and  fifteen  barrels 
of  whisky.  She  had  been  aground  a  hundred 
times  and  had  passed  other  stranded  craft  laden 
with  men  who  cursed  her  as  she  gained  the  lead. 
A  city  of  tents  sprang  up  on  the  flats;  it  changed 
to  one  of  cabins  when  the  first  snow  flew.  John 
Daniels  Creek  was  overrun,  at  nights  its  tortuous 
course  was  lit  by  glowing  fires,  smoke  hung  above 
it  constantly,  it  became  pitted  with  prospect 
holes.  Trails  were  broken  to  adjoining  creeks 
where  similar  scenes  were  enacted.  But  of  all 
who  came,  few  saw,  and  almost  none  spoke  to, 
John  Daniels  himself,  for  he  never  went  to  town 
and  there  was  no  welcome  at  his  cabin.  Of  course 
his  name  was  on  every  tongue,  but  he  toiled  under- 
ground by  day  and  hid  himself  by  night.  Some- 
times Hopper,  on  his  way  to  or  from  Number 

359 


THE    BRAND 

Four  Above,  would  stop  over  and  spend  an 
evening  with  him,  but  not  often. 

Meanwhile  great  ash-gray  pay  dumps  grew  upon 
Discovery,  and  there  were  rumors  of  a  fabulous 
bed-rock,  inlaid  with  gold,  but  Daniels  did  all  his 
own  sampling,  so  there  was  no  way  of  verifying  the 
reports.  When  the  spring  sluicing  was  finished  it 
was  said  that  he  had  cleaned  up  half  a  million. 

Daniels  himself,  huge,  gaunt,  gray-bearded,  and 
silent,  saw  his  gold  loaded  aboard  the  first  steamer 
and  accompanied  it  to  the  "outside" — this  being 
his  first  trip  to  the  States  in  ten  years. 

During  his  absence  the  new  camp  of  Arcadia 
grew,  for  its  fame  had  spread.  It  changed  from 
a  formless  cluster  of  log  shacks  to  a  small  city  of 
sawed  lumber  and  paint.  One  season  had  made 
the  wilderness  into  a  frontier  town,  the  next  made 
of  it  a  metropolis.  With  the  current  that  flowed 
thither  from  the  distant  camps  came  the  scum 
of  the  north  country.  Following  the  first  tide  of 
venturesome,  strong-limbed  men  came  the  weak- 
lings, the  maimed  and  crooked  of  body  and  soul, 
the  parasites  and  idlers.  Among  these  there  were 
women  of  the  customary  kind  and  a  number  of 
men  who  lived  upon  their  earnings.  Barclay  was 
one  of  them. 

Arcadia  was  in  the  fullest  riot  of  its  growth  when 
John  Daniels  returned,  late  in  the  autumn.  He 
had  expected  to  find  a  change,  but  he  was  un- 
prepared for  the  startling  transformation  that 
greeted  his  eyes.  It  stirred  him  deeply,  for  the 

360 


THE    BRAND 

town  was  his,  he  had  made  it,  his  hands  had 
given  it  life.  He  wondered  if  this  could  be  his 
desolate  camping-place  of  two  seasons  before. 
Where  was  the  melancholy  forest?  the  brooding 
silence?  As  he  walked  up  the  front  street  past 
the  painted  stores  the  vigorous  life  and  optimism 
of  the  place  electrified  him ;  he  heard  laughter  and 
music,  the  tinkle  of  pianos  from  the  dance-halls, 
the  sounds  of  revelry.  The  air  was  filled  with 
clamor,  it  was  pungent  with  smoke  and  with  the 
manifold  odors  of  a  city.  Everywhere  was  ac- 
tivity and  haste. 

Of  course  the  news  of  his  return  spread  swiftly, 
for  he  was  a  personage,  but  before  the  curious 
could  mark  him  he  had  left  for  the  creek  that  bore 
his  name,  where  a  hundred  men  were  preparing 
to  drift  out  Discovery  pay-streak  under  his  super- 
vision. He  remained  there  a  month,  during  which 
the  first  gray  snows  turned  white  and  brought  that 
peculiar  loneliness,  that  depression  of  spirit  which 
marks  the  beginning  of  winter. 

Then  one  day  he  decided  to  go  to  town.  The 
impulse  surprised  him,  for  he  had  meant  to  shun 
the  place,  as  always,  but  his  summer  in  the  world 
outside  had  worked  a  change  and  something  with- 
in him  hungered  for  companionship,  the  glare  of 
lights,  the  sight  of  animated  faces.  Then,  too, 
he  was  curious  to  examine  this  town  of  his  at 
closer  range. 

It  was  worth  seeing,  he  decided  proudly,  during 
his  inspection;  it  was  a  splendid,  healthy  camp. 
24  361 


THE    BRAND 

He  walked  the  front  street,  then  prowled  through 
the  regions  behind.  There  were  women  in  this 
part  of  Arcadia,  and  these  he  regarded  distrust- 
fully, although  he  was  more  than  once  arrested 
by  a  glimpse  of  some  cozy  home,  and  stood  staring 
until  warned  by  the  frowns  of  indignant  house- 
wives that  his  presence  was  suspicious.  He  re- 
membered another  cabin  like  these — his  own.  He 
had  never  quite  grown  accustomed  to  its  white 
curtains  and  china  dishes  and  similar  delights,  any 
more  than  he  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  pres- 
ence of  that  wonderful,  mysterious  creature  who 
had  filled  the  place  with  light.  It  was  all  part 
of  another  life,  a  bewildering  dream  too  agreeable 
to  last. 

In  the  course  of  his  wanderings,  however,  he 
came  into  a  different  district,  one  which  offended 
him  sorely.  Immediately  behind  the  saloons  he 
found  a  considerable  cluster  of  meaner  shacks 
which  were  inhabited  by  women  and  yet  which 
were  not  homes.  These  gaudily  curtained  houses 
huddled  close  together,  as  if  for  moral  support  or 
as  if  avoiding  contact  with  their  surroundings; 
they  crouched  in  the  shelter  of  the  gilded  dance- 
halls,  seeking  a  sort  of  protection  in  one  another's 
disreputable  company.  From  some  of  the  win- 
dows haggard  faces  smiled  at  Daniels,  and  he  heard 
sounds  of  a  merrymaking  that  were  particularly 
offensive  at  this  hour.  Until  this  moment  he  had 
regarded  Arcadia  with  fatherly  pride,  and  had  not 
dreamed  it  was  wicked,  hence  this  discovery  en- 

362 


THE    BRAND 

raged  him.  He  was  not  a  sensitive  man,  having 
trod  the  frontier  where  vice  is  naked,  but  some- 
thing about  the  rotten  core  of  this  new  community 
sickened  him.  It  reminded  him  of  a  child  diseased. 

And  then,  as  if  to  point  the  comparison,  he  saw 
a  child,  a  tiny,  fat,  round-faced  person  leading  a 
puppy  by  a  string. 

Now,  women  were  strange  to  John  Daniels, 
since  there  had  been  but  one  in  his  life,  and 
he  had  possessed  her  only  briefly,  but  children 
were  mysterious,  incomprehensible  creatures;  phe- 
nomena which  excited  at  once  his  awe  and  his 
amazement.  They  made  him  ill  at  ease;  he  had 
never  touched  one,  with  the  possible  exception 
of  an  Indian  papoose,  now  and  then,  therefore 
his  present  meeting  constituted  an  experience — 
almost  an  adventure.  It  was  a  white  child,  too, 
and  it  gazed  at  him  with  the  disconcerting  calm- 
ness of  a  full-grown  person.  Daniels  was  both 
embarrassed  and  shocked  at  its  presence  in  this 
locality.  He  hesitated,  then  summoned  his  cour- 
age and  said,  timidly: 

"Say,  kid,  ain't  you  lost?" 

The  child  continued  to  stare  at  him  in  unaf- 
fected wonder,  leaving  him  painfully  conscious  of 
his  absurd  size  and  forbidding  appearance.  He 
feared  that  once  it  had  overcome  its  first  amaze- 
ment it  would  begin  to  cry  and  thus  cover  him 
with  ignominy.  But,  happily  for  him,  the  pup- 
py experienced  none  of  its  owner's  doubts  and 
uncertainties;  it  flattened  its  round  stomach, 

363 


THE    BRAND 

thumped  its  soft  paws  upon  the  sidewalk,  then 
approached  the  giant  in  a  delirious  series  of  wobbly 
leaps,  wiggling  an  eloquent,  if  awkward,  declara- 
tion of  friendship. 

"Fine  dog -team  you're  driving,  sonny!"  Dan- 
iels smiled,  congratulating  himself  upon  an  ad- 
mirable display  of  wit,  only  to  realize  with  a  start 
that  he  had  made  a  mistake.  Some  sixth  sense 
informed  him  that  this  was  not  a  boy.  It  was  a 
humiliating  error. 

"Say,  missie,  you — you  don't  belong  here. 
You're  plumb  off  your  trail.  That's  a  cinch!" 
He  cast  a  worried  glance  over  his  shoulder  and 
saw  a  hideous  blanched  face  smile  at  him  between 
a  pair  of  red  curtains.  He  glared  back  at  the 
woman,  and  his  cheeks  grew  hot.  Meanwhile  the 
little  girl  continued  her  unwinking  examination. 

She  wore  a  ridiculous  fur  parka,  scarcely  larger 
than  Daniels's  cap,  and  tiny  mukluks  that  made 
her  legs  look  shorter  and  fatter  than  they  were. 
Her  mittens  were  the  littlest  things  he  had  ever 
seen  and  he  was  regarding  them  wonderingly  when 
she  amazed  him  by  approaching  and  laying  one  in 
his  hand. 

Now,  this  frank  and  full  declaration  of  friend- 
ship reduced  Daniels  to  a  helpless  condition;  he 
had  never  been  more  troubled  in  his  life.  He  was 
vaguely  frightened,  and  yet  he  thrilled  in  an  un- 
accountable manner  at  the  touch.  He  was  half 
minded  to  withdraw  his  hand  from  his  glove  and 
retreat,  leaving  it  in  her  possession,  but  thought 

364 


THE    BRAND 

again  of  these  evil  surroundings,  and  of  the  re- 
sponsibility that  had  devolved  upon  him  with  her 
surrender.  In  the  midst  of  his  dumbness  the 
young  lady  burst  into  a  bubbling  and  intimate 
recital  of  her  adventures,  which  doubtless  would 
have  been  perfectly  intelligible  to  her  mother, 
but  which  left  the  discoverer  of  John  Daniels 
Creek  floundering  for  a  translation. 

He  concealed  his  disgraceful  ignorance  by  an 
easy  assumption  of  understanding.  He  nodded, 
he  winked,  he  grinned.  He  eyed  the  infinitesimal 
hand  that  lay  in  his,  then  gingerly  removed  his 
own  glove  the  better  to  safeguard  its  treasure, 
whereupon  the  small  mitten  promptly  closed  over 
one  of  his  big  knuckled  fingers.  Daniels  gasped 
and  held  his  digit  as  rigid  as  a  pick-handle. 
Escape  was  no  longer  possible. 

Having  finished  her  recital  the  tot  burst  into  a 
funny  gurgle  which  plainly  established  a  deep  and 
undying  intimacy  between  them,  then,  like  all 
maidens  who  have  pledged  their  affections,  she 
made  plain  her  readiness  to  accompany  her  pro- 
tector to  the  end  of  the  world. 

But  the  puppy  held  back  and  delayed  progress 
as  effectively  as  a  ship's  anchor,  so,  fearing  to 
exert  too  great  a  strain  upon  his  extended  finger, 
Daniels  gave  the  animal  bodily  into  her  embrace. 
One  short  arm  encircled  the  dog's  neck,  whereupon, 
as  if  by  habit,  it  limply  resigned  itself  to  misery. 
The  three  went  slowly  out  of  that  sin-ridden  place, 
the  man  dazed  and  delighted,  the  child  loquacious 

365 


THE    BRAND 

and  trustful,  the  puppy  with  lolling  tongue  and 
legs  protruding  stiffly. 

Daniels  had  mastered  many  dialects  in  his  time, 
from  Chinook  to  Pidgin  English,  but  to  save  him- 
self he  could  make  nothing  out  of  this  language. 
Some  words  were  plain,  but  they  were  lost  in  a 
bubbling  flow  of  strange,  moist,  lisping  articula- 
tions that  left  the  general  meaning  obscure. 

She  answered  all  his  questions  eagerly,  fully,  and 
he  acknowledged: 

"She  knows  what  she's  sayin',  all  right,  but 
I'm  as  rattled  as  a  tenderfoot." 

Nevertheless  he  derived  a  preposterous  delight 
from  this  experience,  until  he  realized  that  they 
were  wandering  aimlessly.  Then  thoughts  of  a 
possible  encounter  with  a  distracted  parent  filled 
him  with  such  dismay  that  he  appealed  to  the 
first  woman  he  met. 

"Lady!     If  you  know  where  this  baby  lives — 

"Certainly  I  know." 

"Then  take  her  home.  Her  mother  '11  think  I'm 
a  kidnapper."  Daniels  perspired  at  the  thought. 

The  woman  laughingly  accepted  the  respon- 
sibility of  a  full  explanation,  but  as  she  lifted  the 
child  it  turned  up  its  face  to  Daniels,  quite  as  a 
matter  of  course.  The  rosebud  lips  awaited  him, 
yet  he  did  not  understand.  He  inquired,  blankly : 

"Now  what  does  she  want?" 

"A  kiss.     Don't  you,  dearie?" 

"God'lmighty!"  breathed  the  man.  Then  he 
lowered  his  bearded  face. 

366 


THE    BRAND 

He  was  trembling  when  the  strangers  had  gone; 
he  felt  those  moist  baby  lips  against  his  and  the 
sensation  almost  overcame  him.  He  didn't  like 
the  woman's  appearance,  but  she  seemed  tender- 
hearted and — there  was  no  better  way  of  insuring 
the  safety  of  his  little  charge  than  to  give  her  over. 

But  that  kiss!  It  remained  upon  his  lips  more 
fragrant,  more  holy  than  anything  he  had  ever 
conceived.  It  left  him  conscious  of  his  own  un- 
cleanliness  and  shortcomings. 

Still  in  a  daze,  he  looked  down  at  his  index  finger, 
which  remained  rigid;  it  was  blue  with  the  cold, 
but  he  felt  nothing  except  the  clasp  of  a  tiny  woolen 
mit. 

"Well!"  he  exploded.  "I— don't  seem  to  be 
dreaming.  She  liked  me — she  must  of — or  she 
wouldn't  of  kissed  me.  She  sure  did,  and  I— 
God!  I'd  trade  Discovery  for  another  one." 

He  felt  no  further  interest  in  Arcadia;  he 
thought  only  of  the  child  and  the  amazing  ad- 
venture that  had  come  to  him;  he  could  think 
of  nothing  else  during  the  afternoon.  More  than 
once  he  touched  his  lips  timidly  with  his  tongue 
and  bared  his  hand  to  stare  at  his  big  finger. 

When  he  had  dined  that  evening  he  began  a 
leisurely  round  of  the  saloons  and  gambling-halls, 
pausing  in  each  to  invite  every  one  to  drink,  as 
befitted  a  man  of  wealth.  He  played,  more  or  less, 
without  knowing  whether  he  won  or  lost,  for  his 
thoughts  were  directed  in  other  and  stranger 
channels. 

367 


•      THE    BRAND 

The  Elite  was  the  most  pretentious  place  of 
amusement  in  Arcadia  and  it  was  running  full 
blast  when  he  strolled  in,  late  that  night.  The 
show  was  over  in  the  theater,  but  a  dance  was 
going  on.  Beyond  the  people  at  the  gambling- 
tables  he  saw  swiftly  moving  figures  and  heard 
the  caller's  shouts  through  the  rhythmic  beat  of 
the  orchestra. 

He  looked  on  with  some  interest  until  he  could 
engage  the  attention  of  a  bartender,  then  said: 

"Call  everybody  up  for  a  drink." 

When  the  fellow  eyed  him  distrustfully  he 
explained : 

"I'm  John  Daniels." 

He  was  amused  at  the  instant,  almost  ludicrous 
change  of  expression,  and  at  the  alacrity  with 
which  the  crowd  responded  to  his  invitation. 
They  stampeded,  the  games  were  deserted,  the 
"sleepers"  roused  themselves,  even  the  dancers 
came  trooping  forth  with  his  name  upon  their 
lips.  The  music  ended  discordantly  and  the 
musicians  followed  them.  The  long  bar  was 
lined  six  deep  by  people  who  elbowed  one  another 
for  a  glimpse  of  the  famous  John  Daniels.  Those 
who  succeeded  beheld  a  huge,  grim-featured  man, 
bearded  to  the  cheek-bones,  who  seemed  deaf 
to  their  remarks  and  heedless  of  their  stares.  His 
hair  was  long  and  gray,  his  eyes  were  small  and 
bright  and  hard;  he  looked  like  a  Mormon  elder. 

It  took  time  to  serve  such  an  assemblage,  and 
during  the  delay  Daniels  stood  motionless,  vaguely 

368 


THE    BRAND 

resenting  this  curiosity.  When  the  bartender  said 
"All  set!"  he  raised  his  glass  and  exclaimed, 
"Drink  hearty!" 

As  the  glass  left  his  lips  his  eyes  ran  down  the 
bar  and  along  the  bank  of  faces,  clear  to  the  end, 
where  the  dance-hall  girls  had  squeezed  them- 
selves in.  There  they  rested,  and  widened. 

His  hand  fell  heavily,  crushing  the  glass  be- 
neath it,  for  facing  him,  clinging  to  the  rail  as  if 
about  to  fall,  stood  his  wife.  Their  eyes  met 
fairly.  Daniels  saw  in  hers  the  first  flaming  light 
of  recognition,  then  that  expression  of  deathly 
terror  that  he  remembered;  he  felt  the  floor  sink- 
ing, saw  the  near-by  figures  whirling,  heard  the 
clamor  die. 

After  his  first  start  not  a  muscle  of  his  face 
moved,  but  his  eyes  began  slowly  to  search  through 
the  crowd  as  if  for  some  one,  and,  seeing  that,  she 
understood.  With  a  hand  to  her  throat  she 
groped  her  way  blindly  out  of  the  crush,  then 
made  for  the  rear,  but  her  knees  forsook  her  and 
she  paused,  leaning  against  the  wall.  It  never 
occurred  to  her  that  she  might  escape. 

She  knew  without  looking  when  he  came 
toward  her.  He  spoke  in  an  emotionless  tone, 
saying,  "Come!"  and  she  followed,  half  swooning 
— followed  him  up  the  stairs  to  the  curtained 
boxes  that  ran  round  the  gallery. 

When  they  were  alone,  she  faced  him,  managing 
to  utter:  "So!  You — are  John  Daniels!  They 
said  you  were  dead." 

369 


THE    BRAND 

She  expected  some  violence — death,  perhaps, 
but  he  only  looked  at  her  silently  with  an  expres- 
sion she  could  not  read.  She  felt  she  must  scream. 
She  swayed,  her  eyes  were  filmed  with  terror. 

"Well!  Why  don't  you  do  it,  McGill?  Why 
don't  you — ?"  she  cried,  hysterically. 

"Where  is  Barclay?"  he  inquired. 

' '  He's  here — somewhere.  We  came  three  weeks 
ago —  We — I  didn't  know — " 

He  saw  that  she  was  not  the  woman  he  had 
known:  she  was  frail,  broken;  her  fluttering 
hands  were  thin  and  bloodless;  she  had  no  spirit. 

"So!  He's  got  you  working,  eh?  You're  one 
of  these — rustlers!" 

"I  had  to  do  something.  All  I  know  is  stage 
work." 

"This  ain't  stage  work!" 

She  nodded  wearily.  "He  made  me  go  the — 
limit." 

"Made  you!     Did  you  get  a  divorce?" 

"N-no!" 

Daniels  cursed  so  harshly  that  she  flinched,  al- 
though she  had  long  since  grown  accustomed  to 
profanity.  Then  he  turned  away,  but,  reading 
murder  in  his  face,  she  seized  him  with  fingers  that 
were  like  claws. 

"Wait!     Don't  do  that!" 

"You  love  him,  don't  you?" 

"No,  no!  But — he's  bad  now,  and — and  prob- 
ably drunk.  He'll  kill  you,  McGill.  He's  bad,  I 
tell  you — tough — don't  you  understand?  He's 


THE    BRAND 

bad,  and  he's  made  me  bad,  too,  that's  why  I'm 
here.  He's  not  worth  it,  McGill;  neither  am  I!" 

"You  can't  stay  in  Arcadia,  neither  of  you.  I 
got  out  of  Ophir  and  let  you  alone,  but  this  is  my 
town;  I  can't  leave  it." 

"We'll  go,"  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands; 
"anyhow,  I'll  go,  if  you'll  help  me.  But  I'll  need 
help—  Oh,  God!  '  Yes,.  I'll  need  help!  You 
don't  know —  You  and  he  can  settle  things 
afterward." 

"You  want  to  leave  him?" 

"I've  tried  to  break  away,  I've  been  trying  ever 
since  that  first  day  in  Ophir,  but  he  won't  let  me. 
I  kept  trying — until  I  learned  better;  now  I'm 
afraid.  He's  broken  me,  Dan,  but  you'll  help  me 
to  leave  him,  won't  you?" 

After  a  time  the  husband  answered,  more  to 
himself  than  to  her:  "I  guess  I'm  even  with  you, 
anyhow.  You've  gone  to  hell,  hand  in  hand  with 
him.  I  won't  interfere — not  that  way.  I  s'pose 
he  beats  you?" 

She  nodded,  and  saw  his  bearded  face  twitch. 
"Yes,  and  he'll  make  me  like  these  other  women — 
you  understand?  I've  fought  until  I'm  tired, 
worn  out.  I'm  in  a  trap,  McGill,  and — I'm 
afraid — afraid  for  the  little  soul  I  have  left." 

"You  sprung  the  trap,"  he  told  her,  bitterly. 

But  his  wife  had  seen  a  way  to  freedom  and 
clutched  at  it  with  desperate  persistence. 

"Listen!  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Come  with 
me  for  a  minute." 


THE    BRAND 

"Come?    Why?" 

"Never  mind.  Oh,  it's  all  right.  You  owe  me 
something,  for  I  still  have  your  name.  Do  this 
for  me,  please!  It's  only  a  step." 

He  yielded  to  her  imploring  eyes  and  followed 
grudgingly  down  the  back  stairs  and  into  the  night, 
wondering  the  while  at  his  own  weakness.  She 
led  the  way,  bareheaded,  heedless  of  the  cold. 
They  were  in  that  ill-favored  district  he  had 
penetrated  earlier  in  the  day,  but  if  it  had  been 
offensive  then  it  was  doubly  so  now,  with  its 
muffled  sounds  of  debauchery  and  wickedness. 
She  paused  finally,  fumbling  at  the  door  of  one 
miserable  structure,  whereupon  he  growled : 

"You  live  here?     You're  worse  than — 

"'Sh-h!"  She  laid  a  finger  on  her  lips  as  she  let 
him  in  and  lit  a  lamp,  then  she  beckoned  him 
toward  the  single  rear  room,  shading  the  light 
with  one  hand  and  inviting  him  silently  to  peer 
over  her  shoulder. 

The  surprise  of  what  he  saw  struck  McGill 
dumb,  for  there  in  a  crib  lay  the  tiny  lass  who  had 
befriended  him  that  afternoon.  Her  lips  were 
pouting  sweetly,  her  face  was  flushed  with  dreams, 
one  plump  little  arm  was  outside  the  covers,  and 
just  below  the  doubled  fist  McGill  saw  the  deep 
dimpled  bracelet  of  babyhood.  Her  presence 
made  of  these  squalid  surroundings  a  place  of 
purity;  the  room  became  suddenly  a  shrine. 

"The  son-of-a-gun !"  said  McGill,  inanely,  then 
his  face  darkened  once  more.  "I  know  her,"  he 

372 


THE    BRAND 

announced,  grimly.     "What  are  you  doing  with 
that  kid— in  this  hell-hole?" 

From  the  alleyways  near  by  came  a  burst  of 
ribaldry,  but  the  woman's  face  was  shining  when 
she  answered: 

"Why,  she's  mine — my  baby.  We  have  no 
other  home." 

He  did  not — could  not — speak,  so  she  said, 
simply : 

"Now  you  see  why  I  must  leave  Barclay,  and — 
all  this." 

"Your  baby!"  McGill's  eyes  dropped  to  the 
index  finger  of  his  right  hand,  then  he  touched  his 
lips  curiously. 

"Barclay  won't  let  me  run  straight.  I've  al- 
ways wanted  to,  and  now  I  must,  for  the  baby's 
sake."  When  this  brought  no  response  she  con- 
tinued, with  growing  intensity,  but  in  a  lowered 
tone.  "She'll  begin  to  understand  things  before 
long.  She'll  hear  about  him — and  me.  Then 
what?  She'll  think  for  herself,  and  she'll  never 
forget  a  thing  like  that,  never.  How  can  she 
grow  up  to  be  good  if  she  learns  the  truth?  It 
wouldn't  let  her.  Nobody  could  stay  good  around 
Barclay.  Even  I  couldn't,  and  I  was  a  woman 
when  I  met  him.  I'm  decent,  inside,  McGill. 
Honestly  I  am,  and  I've  been  sorry  every  day 
since  you  left.  Oh,  I've  paid  for  what  I  did! 
And  I'll  pay  more,  if  I  have  to,  but  she  mustn't 
be  part  of  the  price.  No!  You've  got  to  help 
me.  Don't  you  see?" 

373 


THE    BRAND 

She  mistook  his  gesture  of  bewilderment  for 
one  of  refusal,  then  hurried  to  one  final,  frenzied 
appeal,  although  at  a  fearful  cost  to  herself.  It 
was  this  which  had  come  to  her  in  the  dance-hall; 
it  was  this  that  she  had  led  up  to  without  allowing 
herself  time  in  which  to  weaken. 

"Listen!  She  shouldn't  stay  with  me,  even  if 
I  get  away;  it  wouldn't  be  good  for  her;  besides, 
Barclay  would  find  us  some  time ;  or,  if  he  didn't, 
I'm  too  sick  to  last  much  longer.  Then  she'd  be 
alone.  You're  rich,  McGill.  You're  John  Dan- 
iels. You'll  have  to  take  her — not  for  my  sake, 
understand,  but — " 

"7?"  The  man  started.  "I  take  Barclay's 
baby?  Great  God!" 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  during  which 
the  wife  strove  to  steady  herself,  then  she  said: 

"She's  not  his — she's  yours — ours." 

McGill  uttered  a  great  cry.  It  issued  from  the 
depths  of  his  being  and  racked  him  dreadfully. 
He  swung  ponderously  toward  the  rear  room,  then 
fell  to  trembling  so  that  he  could  not  proceed. 
He  stared  at  the  woman,  lifted  his  hands,  then 
dropped  them;  his  lips  shook.  A  fretful,  sleepy 
complaint  issued  from  the  chamber,  at  which  the 
mother  raised  a  warning  finger,  and  the  necessity 
for  silence  calmed  him  more  quickly  than  any- 
thing else  could  have  done. 

" My — baby!'1  he  whispered,  while  he  felt  some- 
thing melt  within  him  and  was  filled  with  such 
an  aching  joy  that  he  sobbed  with  the  agony  of  it. 

374 


THE    BRAND 

His  wife's  punishment  overflowed  when  he 
breathed,  fiercely: 

"Then  give  her  to  me.  You  can't  keep  her. 
You  can't  touch  her.  You  ain't  fit." 

She  bowed  her  head  in  assent,  although  his  tor- 
ture was  nothing  as  compared  with  hers. 

"You'll  help  me  get  away  from  Barclay,  won't 
you?"  she  asked,  supporting  herself  unsteadily. 

"Barclay!  I  forgot  him!  He's  the  one  that 
did  all  this,  ain't  he?  He  brought  you  to — this; 
and  my  baby,  too.  He  made  her  live  among 
women  like  these.  He  raised  her  in  slime —  The 
speaker's  face  became  slowly,  frightfully  distorted. 

His  wife  went  swiftly  to  him;  she  struggled  to 
fend  him  away  from  the  door,  but  he  moved 
irresistibly.  They  wrestled  breathlessly  so  as  not 
to  awaken  the  child,  while  she  begged  him  in  the 
baby's  name  not  to  go,  not  to  bring  blood  upon  her; 
but  he  plucked  her  arms  from  around  him  and 
went  out,  closing  the  door  softly. 

When  he  had  gone  Mrs.  McGill  stood  motion- 
less, her  eyes  closed,  her  palms  pressed  over  her 
ears  as  if  to  shut  out  a  sound  she  dreaded. 

Barclay  was  dealing  "bank"  in  one  of  the 
saloons  when  McGill  entered  and  came  toward 
him  down  the  full  length  of  the  room.  They 
recognized  each  other  as  their  eyes  met,  and  the 
former  sat  back  stiffly  in  his  chair,  feeling  that  the 
dead  had  risen.  What  he  saw  written  in  the  face 
of  the  bearded  man  drove  the  blood  from  his 
cheeks,  for  it  was  something  he  had  dreaded  in 

375 


THE    BRAND 

his  dreams.  He  knew  himself  to  be  cornered, 
and  fear  set  his  nerves  to  jumping  so  uncontrollably 
that  when  he  snatched  the  Colt's  from  its  drawer 
and  fired  blindly,  he  missed.  The  place  was 
crowded,  and  it  broke  into  a  frightful  confusion 
at  the  first  shot. 

None  of  those  present  told  the  same  tale  of 
what  immediately  followed,  but  the  stories  agreed 
in  this,  that  John  Daniels  neither  hesitated  nor 
quickened  his  approach,  although  Barclay  emptied 
his  gun  so  swiftly  that  the  echoes  blended,  then 
snapped  it  on  a  spent  cartridge  as  the  two  clinched. 
Curious  ones  later  searched  out  the  bullet-marks 
in  wall  and  ceiling  which  showed  beyond  doubt 
the  nervous  panic  under  which  the  gambler  had 
gone  to  pieces,  and  so  long  as  the  building  stood 
they  remained  objects  of  great  interest. 

Now  McGill — or  Daniels,  as  he  was  known  to 
the  onlookers — never  went  armed,  having  yet  to 
feel  the  need  of  other  weapons  than  his  hands. 
He  tore  the  gun  from  his  victim's  grasp,  then 
mauled  him  with  it  so  fearfully  that  men  shouted 
at  him  and  hid  their  faces.  Meanwhile  he  was 
speaking,  growling  something  into  Barclay's  ears. 
No  one  understood  what  it  was  he  said  until  the 
confusion  died  and  they  heard  these  words : 

" — And  you'll  go  with  my  brand  on  you  where 
everybody  '11  read  it  and  know  you're  a  rat." 

Next  he  did  something  that  a  great  many  had 
heard  of  but  few,  even  of  the  old-timers,  had 
witnessed.  He  gun-branded  his  enemy.  Barclay 

376 


THE    BRAND 

was  little  more  than  a  pulp  by  this  time;  he  lay 
face  up  across  the  faro-table  with  McGill's  fingers 
at  his  throat.  They  thought  the  older  man  was 
about  to  brain  him,  but  instead  he  turned  the 
revolver  in  his  hand  and  drew  the  thin,  sharp- 
edged  sight  across  Barclay's  forehead  from  temple 
to  temple,  then  from  forelock  to  bridge  of  nose. 
A  stream  of  blood  followed  as  the  sight  ripped 
through  to  the  skull  like  a  dull  scalpel,  leaving  a 
ragged  disfiguring  cross  above  the  gambler's  eyes; 
it  scarred  the  bone;  it  formed  a  hideous  mutilation 
that  would  last  as  long  as  the  fellow  lived,  and 
constitute  a  brand  of  infamy  to  single  him  out  from 
ten  thousand,  telling  the  story  of  his  dishonor. 

When  he  had  finished,  McGill  raised  the 
wretch  bodily  and  flung  him  half  across  the  room 
as  if  he  were  unclean,  then,  without  a  glance  to 
right  or  left,  he  went  forth  as  he  had  come. 

His  wife  was  waiting  with  her  ears  covered,  but 
she  saw  the  blood  on  his  hands  when  she  opened 
her  eyes,  and  cried  out. 

"It's  his,"  he  told  her,  roughly.  "I  don't 
think  I  killed  him.  I  tried  not  to,  for  her  sake." 
He  inclined  his  head  toward  the  inner  door. 
"But  it  was  hard  to  hold  in,  after  all  this  time. 
He'll  never  trouble  you  again." 

"When  do  you — mean  to  take  the  baby?"  she 
whispered. 

"Now—    She—" 

"No,  no!  Not  yet.  Let  her  stay  here  a  little 
while — till  I'm  strong  enough  to  let  her  go.  Just 

377 


THE    BRAND 

a  little  while,  McGill.  You're  a  good  man.  Don't 
you  understand?"  She  was  palsied,  incoherent 
with  dread;  in  her  eyes  was  a  look  of  death. 

But  he  held  out  his  empty  arms,  crying,  hoarsely, 
"Let  me  have  my  kiddie!" 

So  she  went  in  and  gathered  up  the  sleeping  babe. 

It  may  have  been  the  father's  heart-beats  that 
awakened  the  little  one  when  she  lay  against  his 
breast;  at  any  rate  the  blue  eyes  opened  and 
stared  up  at  him  gravely.  Astonishment,  alarm 
gave  way  to  recognition ;  she  smiled  drowsily  and 
her  lids  closed  again,  then  a  tiny  hand  curled  about 
one  of  McGill 's  ringers. 

His  face  was  wet  when  he  raised  it  to  the  stricken 
woman  and  said,  gently,  "We'll  go  now,  if  you're 
ready,  Alice." 

"What  do  you — ?"  She  stared  at  him  wildly. 
;"You  don't  want  me,  McGill;  not  after  all  I've 
done,  all  I — am?" 

"I've  always  wanted  you,"  he  told  her,  simply. 
"You'll  have  to  come,  for  she  needs  you."  Hold- 
ing the  baby  close  with  one  arm,  he  extended  the 
other  to  his  wife,  but  she  drew  back,  choking. 

"Not  yet!"  she  managed  to  say  through  her 
tears.  "Not  until  you  know  I'm  not  all  bad — 
only  weak." 

He  took  her  hand  and  together  they  went  out, 
walking  slowly  so  as  not  to  awaken  the  child. 

THE   END 


000110460 


